A Soul to Seduce
by Eurydice11
Summary: When Buffy finds out Spike's alive, she goes to LA to get answers, only to be immersed in a web of deceit and betrayal. Who to trust becomes the million dollar question, and her life turns into a race to solve it. Before it's too late for everyone.
1. Our Lives Rearranged

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This will be a multi-pairing fic, though its primary focus is going to be Spuffy. Other pairings are going to be Wes/Faith and Lindsey/OC, and the plan is that there _will_ be intimacy for the other couples as well as Spike and Buffy. This is set immediately after the AtS S5 episode, "Damage," but will veer from canon at that point. You'll very quickly see how. :)

_Chapter One: Our Lives Rearranged_

"I'm telling you, B. Wasted opportunity. You're getting slow in your old age."

"I'm not slow. I'm selective."

"Yeah, well, if he'd looked twice in my direction, I would've been selecting him right there on the dance floor."

"Is that what we're calling it these days?"

"Hey, I'm not the one who spent the night Garboing at the bar."

Buffy came to a halt outside her apartment door and turned an annoyed gaze toward Faith. Of course, Faith hadn't spent the night alone, not looking like that. She wore her favorite clubbing clothes, a silk halter that matched her scarlet lipstick and low-slung jeans that showed off her second-best asset. Buffy hadn't said a word when they'd left at sunset, mostly because she knew how badly Faith needed a few hours of distraction, but if this was going to be the thanks she got for not calling a ho a ho, maybe it was time to channel her inner Cordelia and stop this line of commentary before it got too far off the ground.

Then she saw the bruises Faith hadn't quite concealed with her dramatic make-up and changed her mind. Faith was just being Faith. Buffy didn't need to make matters worse by picking a fight.

"All I'm saying, he calls himself The Immortal and he hangs out at a club packed with twenty-year-olds. If that doesn't scream 'mid-life crisis,' I don't know what does."

She caught the roll of Faith's eyes before she turned to open her purse and dig out her keys. "Nobody's asking you to marry the guy, B. A little rough, a little tumble, and everybody goes home happy."

_Yeah, like you're whistling Dixie yourself,_ Buffy thought as she pushed open the door.

The light in the kitchen offered the only illumination in the small apartment. Skirting the small suitcase Faith had dropped in the middle of the floor when she'd arrived two days earlier, Buffy flipped on the lamp next to the couch and frowned when she saw the package and note sitting on the coffee table.

"I'm having a drink," Faith called from the kitchen. "Want one?"

"No, thanks." Buffy plucked the post-it from the box and promptly sighed. Dawn's loopy scrawl announced she was spending the night at the Slayer safehouse and directed Buffy's attention to the paper-wrapped parcel, saying it had arrived just minutes after she and Faith had left for the club. "Well, that didn't take long," she muttered.

"What didn't?"

Buffy tossed the note onto the table and flopped down onto the couch. "For Dawn to start testing my boundaries again."

Taking the chair opposite, Faith propped her boots up on the table, popping two aspirin into her mouth before sipping at her bottled water. "Maybe we should've taken her with us tonight."

Buffy snorted. "Right. Because I _want_ to encourage these wild and willful ways. I thought sending Andrew to LA would keep her inside, but I guess I misjudged that one."

"Why in hell would shipping off Geek Rogers keep the kid from going out?"

"Because when those two get together, the getting in trouble factor explodes by a thousand. Andrew has this weird talent for talking Dawn into these insane plans, which usually end up involving magic somehow." She shook her head, remembering the look on Giles' face when he'd caught the pair trying to use some ancient stone Giles used as a paperweight to kill a demon they'd accidentally raised in his conservatory. "All they're missing are the costumes to sneak into the Tropicana."

"She's sixteen," Faith shrugged. "Girl just wants to live a little."

"Yeah, well, I'm more interested in her living long."

Sitting up, Buffy pulled the package closer, rotating it clockwise in order to read the shipping label. When she saw the absence of a return address, her frown deepened, and she picked it up, turning it over in her hands to look for other clues where it might be from.

"Secret admirer?" Faith asked.

"The way my night's going, probably a bomb." Her fingers slid beneath the tape to open it, then hesitated as she brought it up to her and listened. Just in case, she told herself. She even gave it a short shake, but all she heard was a heavy thud of something hitting the sides of the box.

"You can take the Slayer out of the Hellmouth, but you can't take the paranoid delusions out of the Slayer," Faith muttered.

Buffy ignored her as she rose and went back into the kitchen. Being paranoid had served her well so far. Besides, she'd only been in Rome for a couple weeks, she'd been too busy shopping in real stores to order anything, and Giles would have given her a heads-up if he was sending her something Council-related. Something about this didn't set quite right with her.

She had the paper off by the time Faith reappeared in the doorway, leaning against the jamb and watching her with heavy-lidded eyes. The box was just as nondescript as its wrapping, and when she opened it, she frowned at the silver metal gleaming back at her.

"What is it?" Faith asked.

"I don't know," Buffy admitted. "It looks like a laptop of some sort." She pulled it out and set it on the table, flipping it open to reveal a tiny keyboard and screen. As soon as she did, a hard drive inside it came whirring to life, and within seconds, a message flashed across the monitor.

_Searching for signal. Please wait._

"Looks like Willow's sending toys. Tell her next time, I like mine vibrating and bullet-shaped."

She could really do without Faith's running commentary, but right now, all of Buffy's attention was focused on the small screen, wondering what she was supposed to do with it when it finally finished booting. Why hadn't Willow called to let her know it was coming? For that matter, why hadn't Giles? And what was on it she was supposed to see? Hopefully, nothing too hard. There were certain things she could do with ease – e-mail, chat rooms, shopping from online catalogs. Anything more and she usually required Dawn at her shoulder, guiding her along.

The message disappeared, to be replaced by another.

_Signal established._

Sound came first, muffled voices that sounded tinny coming from the computer's miniscule speakers. They were interspersed with electronic beeps and metallic clinks, and somewhere in the background, Buffy could have sworn she heard chanting. Before she had the opportunity to focus on what was being said, though, the screen pixellated and brightened with a picture, coming to life to reveal an aerial view of what looked to be an operating room.

"What the…?" Buffy muttered. Sliding off the couch, she got on her knees in front of the table in order to peer more closely at the small screen. It definitely looked like something out of _ER_, with a bevy of masked and gloved nurses and doctors obscuring a table in the center. The electronic sounds came from the various equipment scattered around the room. There were some shadows near the edge of the screen that she couldn't quite make out, but otherwise, it looked like any operating room she would see on television, all the way down to the observation ringing the space from above.

It was still hard to discern individual words the medical staff was saying, and Buffy scanned the keyboard, looking for some kind of volume control. Maybe if it was louder, she'd be able to figure it out. Nothing jumped out at her, but when she reverted back to the screen, she noticed a line of camera-shaped icons in the lower left corner.

"They've got numbers on them."

So absorbed in the picture, Buffy hadn't noticed Faith coming over to sit on the couch until she spoke up. "Thanks," she said, but when she tried pressing the numbers on the keyboard, nothing happened.

"Try those F keys," Faith suggested.

That did the trick. While F1 did nothing, F2, F3, and F4 all switched to different angles, each giving a different birds-eye view of the room. The audio changed only minutely with each, adjusting for the new position in the operating room, until she got to F4. Then the operating room sounds disappeared altogether, and her view shifted to an angle more focused on the glass-paneled observation room than on the table. Two men stood behind the glass, looking down into the operating arena, and Buffy's heart skipped a beat as her gaze settled on the familiar broad shoulders.

"Angel…" she murmured.

"And that's Wes with him," Faith said, her voice just as low. "Where the fuck are they?"

Buffy didn't know. She didn't have time to say that before Wesley's careful tones came through the small speakers.

"Have you got any rest at all since they brought him in?"

* * *

Angel's gaze was unwavering as he watched the Wolfram & Hart doctors do their magic. Well, their medicine anyway. The shamans against the wall were the ones doing the magic. He had heard Wesley enter, but didn't greet him, knowing the other man would come to his side without any prompting. 

"I'll sleep when it's over," Angel replied.

"How much longer?"

"It's hard to tell. I was told to stop bothering them with questions around noon." He glanced at the clock on the wall. Even with all the best magic and technology at their disposal, such fine surgery still took an excruciating amount of time. "I wasn't expecting to see you. Did Andrew catch an earlier flight than we anticipated?"

"Actually, Andrew didn't catch a flight at all." Turning away from the window, Wes sat on the corner of a long table as he spoke directly to Angel. In his hand was a plain file folder. "I'm not certain what the Council's intent is with Dana, but for the time being, they've placed her in a private facility here in Los Angeles. Andrew and the other Slayers who were at the distillery are there as well, though not as inpatients. Purely a precautionary measure, it would seem."

"Find out what you can on it. I want to know where Dana is at all times."

"Already done." Wes held out the file for Angel to take, a bemused smile curving his mouth. "Please. Since when do you know me to come unprepared?"

For the first time since finding Dana at the distillery, Angel relaxed enough to chuckle. "I figure one of these days, I'll catch you out."

Considering how little time he must have had to pull it together, Wesley's file on the facility was thick with detail, with several pages of statistics including OSHA reports, personnel details, and tax statements at the top of the sheaf. Angel scanned those quickly, finding nothing unusual enough to make him hesitate, and then flipped back to the more particular account Wes had prepared of the miscellaneous facts that weren't otherwise documented.

His brows shot up at the first paragraph.

"Buffy went there?" he asked. "When?"

"It was before she moved to Sunnydale," Wes said. "According to the records, Buffy's parents admitted her, afraid that she was delusional because she told them she'd seen vampires. She was there for several weeks, actually, before she recanted and the doctors released her back under her parents' care. I checked the dates. It was right after she was Chosen."

Wesley's clarification brought that time period back to Angel in roaring Technicolor. He could still remember seeing Buffy for the first time, remembered how her life and fire had brought fresh meaning to his pitiful existence. But he'd still been a mess then, and with Whistler's prompting, he'd cleaned himself up, started working out to get back into shape for the fight he knew would be coming. The next time he'd seen Buffy, she was already starting to come into her own as the Slayer. She must have been at the institution in those weeks he was getting his act together.

"I wonder why Buffy would want Dana sent there," he mused out loud.

"She might not even know." Rising from his seat, Wes returned to Angel's side and took the file from his hands, thumbing through several color-coded sheets before settling on a pale yellow page and handing it back. "The connection between the Council and the Watts Institute is hidden quite cleverly. It took us quite a bit of digging to trace it all the way back. And the Council has never taken a particularly active role in its administration. They only acquired it in the late sixties when a Slayer overdosed on hallucinogens and they needed somewhere they could control to treat her in accordance with the courts' demands."

Angel frowned. "Since when does the Council care about human laws?"

"They don't," Wesley agreed, "except when a powerful political figure's son is killed by a drugged Slayer." His eyes were solemn. "A political figure with a coterie of Wolfram & Hart attorneys at his beck and call. The Watts Institute saved the Slayer's life."

"Until a demon took it away from her," Angel muttered. Closing the folder, he tossed it onto the table to finish looking at later. His head ached with everything that had happened ever since the whole Dana debacle had started, and it didn't help that he was feeling more than a little guilty about how it had turned out. Common sense told him that they'd done everything they could, but seeing what Dana had done…

His mouth was grim as he turned back to the window. The doctors had shifted a little bit to allow the shamans room to approach the operating table, but it meant Angel could now see the angry sutures stitching Spike's forearms back to his body. He supposed it was better than seeing them unattached and lying twenty feet away from Spike's body, but only mildly.

"Fred assures me they got Spike here in plenty of time," Wes said softly at Angel's side. "And Dana's cuts were clean. With the proper therapy, he'll regain full feeling and motor control within days."

"Which means he's going to be underfoot even more than usual." Angel sighed. "This day just keeps getting better and better."

* * *

From the moment the doctors moved away from the operating table to expose their patient, Buffy hadn't blinked. It had to be faked. There was no way what she was seeing could be real. He was dead. She had been there herself, waiting outside the sinkhole for hours to check for survivors. He had never come out. 

She stopped breathing when Wesley said his name.

"Well, shit," Faith muttered.

It was a sick joke, Buffy decided. That was all. Somewhere, somehow, she'd picked up a new enemy who thought he could get to her by making it look like Spike was alive. It was impressive, yes, but someone hadn't done their homework. There was no way Angel would ever feel guilty about something bad happening to Spike.

"Dana. That was the psycho Slayer you and Giles sent Andrew after, right?"

Buffy nodded, jabbing at the function keys on the computer to see if the surgeon's words were any clearer. Her finger hesitated when a different angle put Spike's upper body in the larger part of the frame, and her stomach twisted as she drank in the dark shadows of his sunken cheeks, the way his lashes looked so stark against his pale skin. How many times had she watched him sleep that last year? He looked exactly the same. And in spite of how crazy the possibility seemed, everything about the figure on the table screamed Spike.

She switched the view back to the one that gave her Angel's audio.

"…least she took his coat off when she did it," he was saying. "He's going to be pissed enough once the pain medication wears off. If I had to explain to him that that stupid coat was ruined, too…"

Buffy had chuckled at how true Angel's statement was before she realized what she was doing. Without looking, she grabbed her purse and dug out her phone, hitting the first number in her speed dial.

"What're you doing?" Faith asked.

"Finding out if any of this is even possible," came the terse reply. "Giles? I need to talk to Andrew. Now."

Lindsey leaned against the railing, staring out at the pink and violet horizon as the longneck bottle hung forgotten from his fingers. The sun would be setting soon, but tonight, LA would be minus both of its so-called champions. One would be in post-op, fighting through the haze of drugs that Lindsey recognized all too well, and the other would likely be at his desk, fighting through the stack of paperwork created by last night's debacle. None of it had turned out as he'd planned. Tomorrow, he was going to have to regroup and figure out how to make this work to his advantage anyway.

The click of his apartment door filtered from behind him, but Lindsey didn't move as Eve navigated through the rooms to join him on the balcony. Her arms wrapped around his waist, and she molded over his back to rest her pointy chin on his shoulder.

"I don't think I've got enough pennies for these thoughts," she teased softly. "You're not still thinking about what happened last night, are you?"

Sometimes, he really hated how glib she could be about his plans, especially when they went straight to hell. "Any word on Spike?"

"Back in mostly one piece."

"And Angel?"

Eve sighed. Her breath was oddly cool along his ear. "Locked himself in observation to watch the surgery. I didn't risk going in to talk to him directly. He's still a little touchy about the whole Selminth deal."

With a sigh, Lindsey closed his eyes and bowed his head, trying to stave off the headache that was already taking residence inside his skull. That was another idea that had backfired on them, all because Eve hadn't remembered to switch out her earrings. Sometimes, he didn't get how a girl so smart could make such simple mistakes. If she'd been one of his interns when he'd still been employed at Wolfram & Hart, he would have recommended her for dismissal without batting an eye. Actually caring what happened to her was making this a lot harder than it had to be.

The weight against his back disappeared, and her heeled footsteps echoed as she went back inside. "I've been thinking about our next move," she called out. "Did you know that the Council didn't take that Slayer back to England?"

Her tidbit drew him from his dour thoughts. "What did they do with her?" he said, twisting against the rail to watch Eve get undressed.

"Well, somebody with a brain decided transporting a psychotic Slayer thousands of miles by air wasn't necessarily the brightest idea. So they've put her in a Council-controlled asylum here in town until they've got her under better control." Her eyes were bright as she shot him a look over her shoulder. "Complete with a couple dozen Slayer bodyguards."

Lindsey jerked straight. This was the glimmer he'd been looking for ever since hearing Angel had lost Dana and he'd nearly lost his best means to get under Angel's skin. Taking a long swig of his now-warm beer, his mind raced as he juggled the new pieces into his bigger picture, his headache receding as answers presented themselves. They weren't his first choice, and they weren't as elegant as the others he'd had, but they would work which was the important thing at this point.

Eve appeared in the doorway, half-dressed in her bra and skirt. "Well?" she asked with that conniving smile that had first convinced Lindsey he could do this. "Do I get a prize for cheering you up?"

Setting down his bottle, he matched her grin and prowled closer. Though she laughed with delight when he yanked her against him, Lindsey's thoughts were elsewhere than on the wriggling body in his arms. Maybe Eve didn't have to worry about the Senior Partners, but he couldn't afford to forget about them for a second. Lives depended on his head being clear.

Most importantly, his.

To be continued in Chapter 2: Body Free, and a Body Less…


	2. Body Free, and a Body Less

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Angel discovered that Dana is still in LA at the same asylum Buffy went to years ago, and Buffy received a computer in the mail that had her looking at the operation on Spike's arms…

_Chapter Two: Body Free, and a Body Less_

Buffy couldn't stop staring at the screen. It didn't make a difference how calm Giles sounded on the phone, or how many different ways Andrew argued that he was going to tell them as soon as he returned to England. The facts were still the same.

Spike was alive.

And he didn't want Buffy to know.

The surgery was over. It had ended while she'd been on hold as Giles set up the conference call, and she'd watched as the nurse wheeled an unconscious Spike out of the room and out of her sight. Angel and Wes had left at the same time, and no amount of flipping between the different cameras had shown Buffy anything more than the empty operating room. She was left watching the time tick by on the clock on the wall. It had only taken one mention of it to Giles and Andrew to discover that she'd witnessed the whole thing as it actually happened. It wasn't a recording. At that very moment, Spike was lying in some hospital bed, recovering from Dana's attack.

"Buffy?" Andrew's voice carried a note of tightly wound anxiety. "Could you tell if it worked? Is Spike going to be okay?"

She steeled her stomach against the wave of helplessness crashing through her and closed her eyes to try and block out the image of Spike swaddled in bandages. "His arms are back on, and the doctors seemed pretty positive about how it went. I guess…I guess they do this a lot."

"You haven't had any more incidents with Dana, have you, Andrew?"

Silently, Buffy thanked Giles for changing the subject. It would come back to Spike soon enough.

The sound of slurping through a straw filled the line. "She's been pretty out of it all day. That new doctor got here this morning and got bossy right away. You'd like her, Buffy. She likes speeches, too."

She rolled her eyes at his obvious reference to the previous year. "Was Angel right, Giles?" Buffy asked. "Did you really set Dana up at Watts?"

Giles sighed. "In light of the circumstances, it was our best option. We couldn't risk Dana causing any more harm until she's in better control of her faculties."

"Was that why the Council pulled its strings to get me in there?"

"Buffy…" He sounded weary, and she felt a brief stab of guilt for barraging him with such hard questions in the middle of the night. "You were never under Council control when your parents admitted you. It was simply about keeping an eye on you. Ensuring you weren't unduly treated. If the conditions had ever worsened, I assure you, measures would have been taken."

"To have me committed for real, you mean. Like what you're planning with Dana."

Another sigh. "Your situation and Dana's situation are two entirely different matters. For one thing, she's been severely traumatized…"

His words faded into a drone she only half-heard. She was over it, but part of Buffy was a little peeved with Giles for forgetting so quickly that she'd had her own share of trauma, too. She might not have been abducted or drugged like Dana had been, but dying and getting yanked from heaven had to count for something. And she hadn't pushed for Dana's search and rescue to see her get locked away again. She wanted to help her. For whatever reason, nothing else had inspired Buffy to action recently quite as much as hearing the young Slayer's story.

"Spare me the specifics," she said, interrupting Giles just as he was about to launch into Dana's treatment plan. She snapped the laptop closed. There would be nothing new to see there. "I'll get them while I'm in LA."

"While you're…what?"

"Oh!" Andrew's excitement was muffled by a sudden splashing, and she had to listen to him squeak in fear as he rushed to wipe up whatever it was he'd spilled. "You're not going to tell Spike that I'm the one who spilled the beans, are you? He made me promise not to tell you."

"I think we're going to have enough to talk about without worrying who told who what."

"Do you really think that's wise, Buffy?" Giles sounded alert again. At least she'd woken him up.

No, she didn't. She was pretty sure she was going to spend the entire flight over arguing with herself about why she had to see Spike with her own eyes, why she cared what happened to a girl who would likely never be sane enough to live outside an institution's walls. But she kept those contentions to herself, repeating her assertion about flying to California and hanging up before Giles could tell her not to charge it on the Council credit card.

Faith's eyes were dark and solemn as she regarded her from her post against the kitchen door jamb. "So which vamp are you pissed more at? Angel, for not telling you about Blondie being back? Or Spike, for not wanting you to know?"

"I'm not pissed." Rising from the couch, Buffy ignored Faith's obvious surprise to head for her bedroom. "For all I know, Spike came back without his soul, which is why he's decided to hook up with Angel. You know the drill. Evil attracts more evil."

"Yeah, but it's not like you two weren't banging each other before he got the soul anyway."

Buffy gritted her teeth as Faith followed her to the bedroom. "Those were special circumstances," she ground out, grabbing her small bag from the corner. She began pulling clothes out blindly and stuffing them into the satchel. "But it doesn't matter. I'm only going out there to make sure I don't have another apocalypse on my hands. Getting rid of Angel the first time he went evil was hard enough."

"Really?" Faith sat on the edge of the narrow bed, leaning back on her elbows as she watched Buffy pack. "Huh. Me and Wes took care of him last spring, no problem."

Of course not. Faith had been the wonder Slayer last spring. Buffy still had the boot prints on her ass from when she'd been kicked out of her own house to prove it. "I don't need this right now," she snapped. "In case you hadn't noticed, I've got to deal with a Slayer who could give _you_ a few lessons on going off the deep end, and a vampire who's supposed to be dust trying to turn me into Richard Kimble." She stared at her wardrobe with disgust before slamming the door shut. "And I can't find my favorite black sweater! Damn it, Dawn! Can't you keep your grubby hands to yourself for a change?"

She grabbed a different sweater in frustration and crammed it into the case, avoiding eye contact with Faith. Buffy knew she was being short-tempered, but considering the circumstances, she figured she was allowed. It wasn't like she and Faith danced around each other any more. Faith was the one person she could rely on for absolute honesty.

Kind of like Spike had been. Before they'd hurt each other so badly and grew afraid of that honesty.

"I think I should go with you."

Faith's announcement made Buffy hesitate on her path back out to the living room. "What happened to needing space to forget about what happened in Cleveland?" She shook her head. "Stay here. You don't want to get dragged down the well of this _Passions_ episode."

"Okay, that came out wrong." Trailing after Buffy again, Faith went straight for her spilling bag and scooped it up onto her shoulder. "I'm going with you."

"I don't think so."

"Did I say you got a choice in the matter? Besides, you need me. No more lone Slayers, remember?"

"And in case you can't remember, there's a whole school of Slayers already waiting for me in LA," Buffy argued. "Most of whom probably never served jail time." She picked up the phone and punched the number for directory assistance, before remembering that without Andrew and Dawn, talking to any of the locals would be a nightmare. Quickly, she disconnected and shoved the phone into her purse. "Stay here and look after Dawn for me. I'll feel better if there's somebody around who scares her more than I do."

With her bags over her shoulder, Buffy headed for the door, only to come up short when Faith blocked the exit. "You're pissed," Faith said. "I get that. But you don't know jack about what's going on in LA, B. You go in there like this, and somebody's going to get hurt." There was an unexpected sobriety in her eyes, asserting her refusal to yield on this. "I can't sit back and let you try and take down Angel, just because you think you've figured out what's going on with him. He turns out to be evil, fine, I'll be the gal to watch your back. But this judge and jury act is over."

For a brief moment, she wondered if Faith was referring to Angel or to herself. As far as Buffy knew, nobody had said a word to Faith about Robin's death, but maybe that had been a mistake. Maybe it would've been smarter to force her to talk about it instead of letting her impromptu arrival and subsequent partying do the mourning for her.

But this wasn't the time to debate choices. There would be plenty of time to do that on the airplane, because apparently, Buffy didn't have any option about Faith's presence or not any more.

"Those black robes make everybody look fat anyway," she said in acquiescence. "Let's go."

They were almost out the door when Buffy remembered the laptop. Darting back inside, she slipped it into her carry-on, then grabbed the wrapping paper to take along, too. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to send her the means to spy on the internal workings of Wolfram & Hart. She had a sinking feeling she was going to need every scrap of help she could find in order to figure out who.

* * *

His body felt thick and his mind thicker, but Spike pushed through the veil of drugs to open his eyes and peer at the man hovering at his bedside. He was half-turned away, scribbling something down on a clipboard, but Spike didn't need to see more than the steel-gray hair or the black eyes to know he didn't recognize the man. He didn't recognize much of anything, beyond the general sterility of the room.

Then he saw the bleary shape of an IV hanging beside his head. And the memories came crashing back with the speed of Dawn on a sugar high.

Spike closed his eyes to try and block out the haunted stare of the girl – _Slayer_, he had to remind himself, though why that was necessary after hearing her talk like he did, Spike had no idea – but all it did was conjure up other, bloodier images.

The stumps of his arms.

The tips of her tangled hair matted and crusted with blood.

And the ghosts her murmurings kept bringing to life. Specters he'd hoped would be put to rest in the Hellmouth. But no. Apparently, all they needed to return was the fresh pain of a new victim. Even if he wasn't truly her torturer.

His body twitched in remembrance of the worst of the horrors, drawing the attention of the man at his side. He didn't need his eyes open to hear the man turn or feel his body heat near. He wondered vaguely, in a drug-addled way, whether this was a response to not being able to feel his hands.

"Mr. Pratt. Good. You're awake," came the deep voice.

He scowled, opening his eyes to slits to glare up at the doc. "It's Spike. Leave the Pratt business."

The doctor nodded in agreement. It was the condescending move of someone who felt he had to indulge an inferior, and Spike had the overwhelming urge to vamp out and give the bloke a good scare to show just who the lower being was here.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Like I've been put on the chopping block. How do you _think_ I feel?"

His sarcasm was going ignored. That was one thing Spike hated about the Wolfram & Hart people. Most of them had seen or heard too much to let themselves be bothered by much of anything.

Flipping to a different page in his chart, the doctor reeled off a series of questions, though each came back to the same matter. Could he feel his fingers? Could he lift his arm? Could he wriggle his thumb? Spike wanted to snap that he couldn't do much of anything, swaddled in bandages an inch thick, but he answered in terse, monosyllabic responses anyway, knowing that if it weren't for Angel's staff – if it weren't for _Angel_, and wasn't that a bitch to confess – he could have ended up in far more pieces than he had, or at the very best, wandered around like a worthless git for the rest of his life, relying on the generosity of others.

He waited until it looked like the doc was done before asking the one question that was nagging him the most. "So how long have I been out of it?"

The doctor replied without looking up. "It's been forty-eight hours since you were brought in. The operation took the good part of a day, and we've had you heavily sedated since then to keep your pain manageable. Speaking of…" Picking up a needle from the nearby stainless steel cart, the doctor turned to the IV and injected the needle's contents into it. "Sleep well, Mr. – er, Spike. I'll speak with you again tomorrow to discuss your physical therapy."

The room was already starting to swim in Woodstock shades by the time the doctor closed the door behind him. Spike closed his eyes to stave off the worst of the nausea, but Dana's hollow gaze followed him. Two days since it had happened. Hard to believe. He still heard her voice as clear as if she stood in the room. Had Angel taken her down? He wouldn't have killed her, that much Spike was sure of. Did that mean she was in Wolfram & Hart facilities, too?

Part of Spike hoped that was the case. He'd like to talk to her once she wasn't convinced he was the root of all evil. Reasonable conversations tended to be like kaleidoscopes when one of the parties was wracked with barmy notions; that was something he knew from experience.

He was nearly asleep again when he heard the door open, and he fought against the drugs to peer at whoever was disturbing him. It took a few moments for the dark shape at the end of his bed to come into focus, but as soon as he saw Angel's familiar glower, he snorted and closed his eyes again.

"What the buggering hell do you want?"

* * *

It was truly astonishing how little Wesley had known of the machinations of the Watchers' Council. Before his assignment in Sunnydale, he had always prided himself upon being thorough, on his research if not his fighting skills, and since his abysmal failure as a Watcher, he'd striven to strengthen what assets he had. It had served him well working with Angel, but now, with the Council in chaos and Wolfram & Hart's facilities at his disposal, he was venturing into a world he had deliberately turned a blind eye to.

Some of it was obvious, of course. One couldn't grow up in a house with a Watcher as a father and not know there were secret meetings and foreign bank accounts and men with death in their eyes who only arrived in the middle of the night. But it was the little things, such as the Council's acquisition of the Watts Institute, that fascinated him. There had been little purpose for the Council to keep the asylum after the Slayer in question – one Christy Pawlosky – had been released upon her treatment's completion. In fact, Christy's death at a ritual exorcism a few months later had triggered a new Slayer's activation on the other side of the world. It made little sense that Watts would remain a Council holding.

And yet it did. And served another function when Buffy's family doctor suggested a temporary admission to investigate her so-called psychosis.

He had known about her stay at Watts before going to Sunnydale, of course. It had been part of her file, and Wesley had memorized it front to back before ever getting on a plane for the States. He'd memorized Faith's, as well, though that had done him precious little good in the end. He had still failed to be a strong enough authority figure to keep her from straying off her Chosen path.

His thoughts drifted from the file on the desk before him to those of Faith and the previous spring. There were moments, deep in the middle of the night, when Wes was alone and his specters particularly querulous, that he wondered if he had done the right thing in allowing her to continue walk free after Angel's soul was returned. She was in jail for a reason, a very good one, and though the subsequent confusion in Los Angeles meant her escape had gone unnoticed, that did not necessarily mean she shouldn't return. Was he condemning others by letting her back out into the world?

He tried to think not. The young woman who had fought with him, who had fought _for_ Angel, was not the same who had nearly stolen his life a few years previous. She had changed. Grown. Just as he had.

Wesley needed to believe in Faith's future. Because he needed to believe in his.

A knock at his door startled him from his reverie, and Wes glanced up in time to see Harmony poke her head in. "Angel's not here," he said automatically.

"I'm not looking for him," she replied. "Well, I am, but I'm looking for you, too. There's a problem in the infirmary."

He frowned. The only thing of note happening with the medical staff was Spike. "What sort of problem?"

"That geeky guy from the Council's back. He went straight to the infirmary and started demanding they let him see Spike. Plus, this time? He brought Slayers with him."

Wesley rose from his chair as soon as she mentioned Andrew. "Thank you for letting me know, Harmony," he said. "I'll take care of it."

She trailed after him as he headed for the elevator. "Do you want me to keep looking for Angel?"

"That's probably for the best. He's been a bit…invested in this entire situation."

"Tell me about it. I never thought I'd see the day somebody made _Spike_ look like the sane Slayer stalker."

She scurried off as he entered the lift, wondering what Andrew wanted this time. Clearly, he didn't feel secure showing his face without Slayers to protect him, though after witnessing Angel's mood when they took Dana away, Wes didn't blame the boy. Going straight to the infirmary made sense as well. If Angel hadn't left explicit instructions regarding Spike's care, Andrew might very well have been able to get in to see him without anyone the wiser. The only question that remained was why.

That answer became evident as soon as Wesley stepped off the elevator.

He hadn't seen Buffy Summers since that spring she'd followed Faith to Los Angeles. Her hair was longer, blonder, her body more angular than he remembered, but the way she put herself together was still the same, the same casual style that probably took hours to create but looked completely natural and unaffected. Unsurprisingly, she exuded a controlled power that hadn't been there before, and carried herself with a surety that made Wesley finally understand why Angel had walked away to leave her to battle the First Evil on her own.

If Buffy's pacing presence in the infirmary waiting room was unexpected, Faith's insouciant straddling of one of the chairs was more so. It wasn't that she looked as she had when she'd left with Willow; it was that she was still with Buffy, months afterward. Wesley was aware that she had helped in the final battle on the Hellmouth, but he had assumed she would take off before the dust had settled. She had no allegiance to Buffy, and Buffy even less for her. To see them now, the Slayers attending Andrew's reappearance, carried implications that he found fascinating.

"Well, this is quite the surprise," he said with a cocked brow.

Buffy ground to a halt, but Faith did nothing but rake her sultry eyes over him, a ghost of a smile curving her full mouth. Wes tore his attention away from her as Buffy found her momentum again, barreling forward with restrained anger to stand in front of him.

"Not quite as surprising as finding out that Spike's alive and kicking," she replied, her words clipped.

"'Cause he sure as hell ain't punching right now," Faith commented. She didn't flinch when Buffy shot her a glare. "Take a fucking joke, B. I'll bet even Wes here thought it was funny."

He had, actually, in a macabre fashion that reminded him of working cases with Cordy and Gunn. It was a trifle annoying that Faith would place his sense of humor so low, but then again, their encounters – even the ones recently – had never been laughfests.

"They're not letting us see Spike," Buffy said, shifting her attention back to Wes. "And I'm not going anywhere until I have a chance to talk to him."

Considering what he knew of her history with Spike, Wes thought that was a fair expectation and nodded in agreement. "The precautions in place are primarily for Spike's safety," he said. He tilted his head toward the nurses' station where their request had likely been denied. "I haven't had the opportunity to check on his status yet today, so shall we do that now?"

Buffy's arms unfolded from where she'd crossed them over her chest, and she followed him to the counter, a silent Faith and Andrew a few steps behind. Just as Wes reached for Spike's chart, the elevator doors opened and Angel emerged.

Buffy flew at him with a flurry of furious questions, while Angel held up his hands in mock surrender, trying to fend her off. Wesley watched the exchange in silence until a warm elbow poked him in the side.

"My money's on B," Faith murmured. Her dark eyes glinted with amusement. "She's been raring to tear him a new one ever since she found out about Spike."

Her conspiratorial tone made him smile. "I think Angel's been prepared for this possibility ever since Spike showed up in his office," he replied, his voice just as low. "Don't count him out just yet."

She only smiled. This close, he could see the dark shadows beneath her eyes, and there was the distinct discoloration of a fading bruise along her jaw that her make-up failed to hide. She was still slaying, obviously, though the question of what might cause her sleepless nights made Wes hesitate. Before he could pose a more personal question about how she was doing, though, Angel pushed past Buffy and approached the nurse behind the counter.

"How's Spike doing?" he asked, his tone brusque.

The young girl frowned. "He's stable," she said. "But you—"

"Then he can take visitors."

Without a glance back, Angel marched down the hall, Buffy rushing to match his pace. Andrew was the next to go, though he had yet to say a word, while Wesley and Faith brought up the rear.

"I still think you should have said something." Buffy's voice drifted back to them. "After everything that happened in Sunnydale—"

"I'm not Spike's keeper," Angel argued. "And he's been perfectly capable of calling you himself for weeks now. It's not my fault he decided not to."

"No, it's your fault he has to deal with crazy Slayers who decide to play pick-up sticks with his body parts."

"How is that…?" Angel cut himself off as he stopped in front of a closed door. "Never mind. We'll talk about this later. I can see you're not going to be rational until you've talked to Spike yourself."

Abruptly, he twisted the knob and pushed the door open, standing out of Buffy's way so that she could enter. She only made it a step inside before whirling around to face Angel again.

"What kind of sick joke is this?" she demanded.

"What are you talking about?"

He brushed by to enter Spike's room. By the time Wesley stood on the threshold, both Buffy and Angel were inside, though both had finally stopped fighting. They were too busy staring at the unmade bed.

Faith whistled under her breath at Wesley's side. "Out of the frying pan…"

"…and into the fire," he concurred.

Spike was nowhere to be seen.

Beyond the rumpled sheets, the only thing on the bed was a thin layer of ashen dust.

To be continued in Chapter 3: Social Grace Is a Waste of Time…


	3. Social Grace Is a Waste of Time

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy and Faith went to LA to find out what was going on with Spike, only to discover his hospital bed empty and covered in dust…

_Chapter Three: Social Grace Is a Waste of Time_

Buffy didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or hit someone very hard, but the longer she stood there staring at Spike's dust-covered bed, the better the odds she'd do all three at the same time.

Pushing Angel out of her way, she bolted for the hall, gulping down deep swallows of air as the muffin Faith had forced on her on the ride from the airport threatened to come back up. Heavy footsteps followed her, echoing her thundering heart, but Angel reached the nurses' station a split second before she did.

"Where's Spike?" he barked before Buffy had the chance to speak.

The young nurse paled, her eyes darting from Angel to Buffy to the corridor behind them. "He should be asleep—"

"Turns out _should be_ doesn't actually mean the same as _is_." He leaned across the counter and snatched up a file, and Buffy caught the name, _Pratt, William_, typed across the tab. "I want to know who…" His voice faded away as his frown blackened, and he rapidly flipped through the casenotes, searching for something in the back.

"What is it?" Buffy demanded.

"It's a mistake, that's what it is."

Faith, Wes, and Andrew came up behind them as Angel snapped the folder shut and glared at the nurse. "What seems to be the problem?" Wesley's voice was an unexpected calm in the maelstrom that seemed to have taken up inside Buffy's head. When Angel didn't respond right away, Wes carefully eased the file out of Angel's grip and opened it to examine himself. "Oh my," he murmured.

Her stomach sank. "Is there some sort of Watcher class that teaches you guys what words to use to not panic Slayers?" Buffy snapped. "Because, guess what? It didn't work for Giles and it's not working for you. What's going on here? Where's Spike? Tell me he's been transferred and Angel's staff does as bad a job cleaning up as Dawn does."

Closing the file, Wes took a deep breath. "There's no indication that Spike's been moved. In fact, according to the notes, the last person to see Spike was Angel."

Angel gripped the edge of the counter and bowed his head, staring at the floor. When he spoke, his voice was so low that Buffy had to strain to hear him. "The last time I saw Spike, they were wheeling him out after surgery. Last night."

"Harmony _was_ looking for you earlier," Wes said.

"And she found me. Which is why I'm here." The slow lift of his head was like a wild animal spotting its prey, reminding Buffy yet again how dangerous Angel could be. His eyes glittered as he said to the nurse, "Who tracks Spike's visitors?"

"I do."

"Then you're fired."

"But you were just here," the nurse argued. Buffy had to give her points for courage; there was no denying Angel's fury and the young woman wasn't backing down. "You got off the elevator, and you went straight to his room. You didn't even stop and ask me how he was." She pointed a wavering finger at something hidden behind the counter, and Buffy, along with everybody else, leaned over to see the bank of monitors showing patient rooms tucked out of view of passers-by. "I watched you go in."

"Did you watch me stake him, too, then?" Angel said, sarcasm dripping from his words.

"Well, no, but—"

"How could you not realize his bed was empty?" Buffy interrupted.

The color was rising in the girl's face. "Because I don't sit here and stare at the monitors all day," she retorted. "I've got a job to do. The only reason I watched to see where Mr. Angel was going was because he didn't tell me himself, and I knew I'd need to log it in the patient's file." She reached for the phone. "I'll call housekeeping to come and take care of—"

Angel's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. "No, you won't. Nobody's touching that room until we find Spike."

"I'll check with Security," Wes said. "I'm fairly certain they record everything. I can review the footage from Spike's room for the past few hours to determine what exactly happened."

"I'll take a piece of that," Faith said.

For a moment, Wes regarded her in silence before nodding in acquiescence. "I'll get Fred down here, as well. She gathered quite a bit of information on Spike when she was trying to recorporealize him. It should be possible for her to run some sort of analysis with the dust on the bed to confirm whether or not it's him."

"Good idea." Releasing the nurse's wrist, Angel picked up the phone and punched an extension. "In the meantime, I'm going to have Harmony put out an alert that Spike's gone missing. Maybe he's just high on painkillers and got bored and took off."

"Nobody can get out of here without me seeing them," the nurse argued, but shut up and shrank away when Angel shot her another fierce glare.

As Angel spoke with Harmony on the phone, Wes stepped forward and took Buffy's arm, pulling her away from the fray to the quieter area of the waiting room. "I'm sure Spike's somewhere in the building," he said softly. "I don't know how much you've been told, but he spent a great deal of time as a ghost after he came out of the amulet, wandering these halls. If there are ways to get around undetected, Spike has found them, I assure you. But that doesn't mean we won't find him."

The words were mildly comforting, and infinitely more so than considering that Angel had staked Spike in a fit of pique. Buffy rubbed at her weary eyes, but all she could see was the ash covering the sterile hospital sheets. "You don't think it's possible he's hiding from me, do you?" she asked. "I know he didn't want me to know he's alive."

"I don't see how he could have known you'd be coming. Andrew didn't call ahead to announce your arrival, did he?"

She glanced back to see Andrew hovering at Angel's elbow, the words _Grissom_ and _evidence_ and something about pennies floating back to her ears. "I don't think so, but maybe I should talk to him anyway."

Buffy was stopped from doing that by Wesley's light touch on her shoulder. "I know this looks rather badly for Angel," he said, dropping his voice even further. "But, really, you shouldn't be so hard on him. I can't believe that he'd do anything as rash as staking Spike in his own hospital bed. Granted, he and Spike have a rather…adversarial relationship, but he was more concerned than any of us about what happened to Spike at the distillery. He watched the entire procedure where they reattached his arms, you know."

Buffy sighed. "I know." She was two steps away before she paused and added, "Thanks, Wes."

Faith cut her off from getting too close to Angel, her eyes large and solemn. "So what's the plan?"

She knew what Faith was doing, putting herself as watchdog on Angel to keep Buffy from attacking him. And while Buffy knew she had that impulse, she also recognized that it wasn't going to accomplish anything. She might not think Angel was completely non-evil at the moment, but Wesley seemed to be doing everything in his power to help. She was going to have to trust him, at least for the time being.

"I need to talk to Andrew where I can hurt him without witnesses if I have to," she said. "And if I stick around here, I'm either going to get in the way, or Angel and I will get even more pissed at each other because I'm tired and he's…Angel. Either way, it's not going to help find Spike."

"So wanna find a dark alley?" Faith said with a wry twist of her mouth.

"More like, a cab ride to Watts. I've got to deal with Dana, too, and maybe talking to her new doctor will distract me while Wes gets us some answers."

It was taking all her concentration not to stare at Angel's dark form looming in the background. His face had clouded at her mention of the Institute and Dana, but thankfully, he didn't say anything, his mouth compressing so tightly that it almost disappeared.

Faith didn't look so thrilled about her plan, either. "Maybe I should come with," she said. "It's not like Wes needs me bugging him. And I don't know shit about the mumbo jumbo he's going to have Fred doing."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "I don't need a babysitter."

"Who said this was for you?" Faith pulled at her tight tank top, squirming inside the garment. "I just want to hit a hot shower and get some decent food. You can run on fumes all you want, B, but count me out of your bid for sainthood."

"We'll call you as soon as we discover anything, of course," Wesley intervened. "What hotel are you staying at?"

"We're not. We're staying at Watts."

That took both Angel and Wes by surprise. "Why?" Angel barked.

"Because the other Slayers are already set up there to protect Dana," she retorted. "If it's good enough for them—"

"None of them were committed there. It's not like it's Club Med, Buffy."

"I _really_ don't think it's going to be a problem remembering that, Angel." Deliberately, she turned back to Wes. "You can reach us at Watts."

Wes nodded, but already Buffy's mind was moving on. There were even more questions now than when she'd left, and not one of the potential answers she had filled Buffy with hope. Part of her didn't even know what she wanted Spike to say when she saw him. She'd been so focused on getting to LA that she hadn't thought that far ahead. And the very real possibility that he'd somehow found she was coming and decided to make himself scarce hurt more deeply than she wanted to admit. Because that meant all his threats to Andrew about keeping mum had been real, real enough for him to prefer risking the wrath of Angel even more than he already did to facing her.

Her gaze returned to Angel. In order to understand any of this, she needed to understand what his relationship with Spike had been – _was_, she hastened to correct. But that required both of them being a lot calmer than they were now.

"We'll call as soon as we find anything out," Angel said, repeating Wesley's offer. "Even though I think you're making a big mistake not staying at a hotel."

She gritted her teeth to keep from replying. It was a mild balm just to know she wasn't going to be left out of the loop. But it didn't stop the specter of Spike's dust rising before her mind's eye as they headed for the elevator.

* * *

Wesley wanted to wait until they were alone before speaking with Angel directly, but as soon as Buffy turned her back on him, Angel was marching back to the nurses' station, picking up Spike's file and reaching for the phone again.

"What are you doing?" Wes asked.

"Calling Spike's doctor," came the reply. "I want to know exactly what his status was the last time he saw him. And if I find out Spike walked out of here on his own two feet to leave me to deal with Buffy, I really will stake him."

Any doubts that there was more to this than met the eye were banished in the face of Angel's mood. This was not feigned irritation, though Wes wondered if it was entirely about Spike. It was quite likely that Angel was going to such lengths to search for the other vampire because of Buffy's obvious vested interest in the matter. Though he hadn't said much of anything at the time, Wes knew Angel had been stung by hers and the Council's view on him now as the head of Wolfram & Hart's LA branch. Clearing his name and setting this to right was a step toward regaining her trust.

"I'll let you know as soon as Fred or I discover anything useful," he said.

Angel's wave was perfunctory, and Wes left him to his call, already mulling over further rationalizations for Spike's disappearance. There were a number of possibilities, but nothing he came up with satisfied all the details. Like why the nurse would lie about seeing Angel go into Spike's room. That was the one that slipped through the cracks no matter what theory Wes posited.

He was still lost in thought after he left Fred. With his head bowed and his mind elsewhere, he didn't see Eve approaching until she stood right in front of him, forcing Wes to come to a halt.

"Is the whole place in the clouds?" she asked with a smile. She didn't wait for a response. "I'm trying to find the big guy, but nobody's seen him around all day. Any clues where I can track him down?"

The last thing Wesley wanted was to alert Eve to the events with Spike. Technically, Spike wasn't an employee and, therefore, none of her concern, but Angel had utilized the firm's resources in tracking Dana. They might deem any subsequent consequences their business.

"He's dealing with an emergency," he said, keeping his voice even. "And I'm actually in the middle of something myself. Is it urgent, Eve? Or can I let Angel know that you're looking for him so that he can contact you later?"

"The Senior Partners are starting to get a little curious why he hasn't updated them on the Dana situation," she said. When he resumed walking, she fell into step beside him, doubling her pace in order to match his longer strides. "They understand he has a personal interest in her, considering she's a Slayer, but they're not happy he's taking so long to get it under control."

"You can inform the Senior Partners that the situation _is_ under control. The Watchers' Council has taken Dana into their custody, which means our intercession is no longer required."

"Is that what Angel told you?"

Her odd question dragged him to another stop, but when he turned a quizzical eye to Eve, she still wore that same insipid smile she always did.

"He must be dealing on a need-to-know basis," she said. "Oh well. I guess that means I'm going to have to speak with him directly about this. Sorry, pal. But thanks for the offer."

With an annoying waggle of her fingers, Eve shifted course and walked down a different hallway, her short skirt flipping around her legs. Wes watched her until she disappeared, her final words echoing inside his head.

It wasn't like Angel to leave him out of the loop on these matters, especially after what had happened with the Selminth parasite. That entire incident had drawn them closer together. Working to discover where Dana had taken Spike had only cemented that, he thought.

_So why did Eve need to speak to Angel about a case that was supposedly closed?_

* * *

Though Andrew had been blessedly quiet while they were at Wolfram and Hart, as soon as they left, he turned into Chatty Cathy, talking about everything from how cool the firm's technology was to Angel's coat to how certain he was that Spike was okay because if he could survive a Hellmouth collapsing in on him, he could survive anything.

"It's not like he's Dracula," Buffy finally snapped. "Spike is not going to keep getting 'get out of death' free cards. For all we know—"

"We know shit," Faith interrupted. "It's why Wes is leading the brain brigade, remember?"

Her mouth was open to retort, but one glance at Faith was all Buffy needed to close it again. She shot a glare toward Andrew and burrowed into the corner of the cab, staring out the window at the LA scenery passing by. Andrew had denied until he was literally blue in the face that he'd alerted Spike to their arrival, so that was a dead end. That meant she had to focus. Think about Dana. Don't think about Spike or dust or—

_Focus_.

The rest of the trip passed in silence, though watching shops she recognized and street signs she could read was more relaxing than she anticipated. All of that flew out the window when the cab rolled to a stop in front of the Watts Institute. All of a sudden, she was fifteen again, and panic stalked the night with golden eyes and a fang-filled smile.

Andrew hopped out of the car without even looking back, leaving Faith and Buffy to straggle afterward. They had stopped on the way to Wolfram & Hart, but she hadn't gotten out of the car then, watching through the window as Andrew handed hers and Faith's bags over to an orderly straight out of _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_. This was different. This was walking into nightmares bold old and recent. Watts had come back to living color in those hallucinations that had almost had her killing her family and friends.

She hesitated on the sidewalk.

She should have insisted Giles transfer Dana to another facility.

"You okay?" Faith's voice was low and even at her side. It definitely leaned toward the side of freaky how she seemed to get Buffy's moods these days, but if she wanted to be honest with herself, Buffy was grateful for it. It was nice that at least one thing was reasonably easy.

"Yeah. I'll be fine."

"Nothing wrong with finding a Holiday Inn. No risks of falling into a strait jacket then. Just stale donuts on the breakfast bar."

Buffy just smiled and shook her head, setting down the path Andrew had forged as he'd scurried toward the front door. They were scheduled to meet with Dana's doctor that evening, but hopefully she'd be able to see Buffy sooner. She wanted to know everything there was about Dana's condition, and what the odds were of getting her to a state where she wouldn't be a threat to the general populace. Having a crazy Slayer was a possibility nobody had considered, though considering what had happened with Faith, maybe they should have. Buffy really didn't want to think about what she'd have to do if Dana's situation wasn't fixable. She'd felt good about giving the power to all those girls; taking it away was an entirely different matter.

"Going to hit the little girl's room," Faith said as soon as they stepped inside. "This jet lag's given me a wicked headache. I'll be right back."

Though Buffy nodded, she was frozen with the rush of memories that hit her from every angle. The assault of antiseptic. The white that bled off the walls. The distinct sound of footsteps echoing on tiled floors. Andrew waited a few feet ahead, an expectant smile brightening his over-eager face, but over his features were others, ghosts of doctors gone by, and Buffy had to blink more than once for them to go away.

"This is Dr. Guerrero's office," he said, pointing at a closed door. "She's been spending all her time with Dana on the ward, but we can have her paged to let her know we're here."

"I remember the doctors being somewhere else," Buffy said with a frown. Finally, her feet started working again, and she closed the distance between them to peer through the window beside the door. "Why isn't she with the rest of the staff?" Not that she was complaining. The further she went into Watts, the worse the flashbacks would get, she thought.

"This was the only space available on such short notice." He pushed the door open for them to enter. When he spoke again, his voice was half its volume, as if he'd just walked into a library instead of a doctor's receptionist area. "And the doc said she liked it better this way anyway. It keeps her from getting involved in other patients."

A middle-aged woman sat at the desk, arguing with a dark-haired man standing in front of it. "I'm sorry, sir, but Dr. Guerrero's very picky about her schedule. If you're not on it, you don't see her."

"Aw, c'mon." There was a drawl to his cajoling tone, matching the slow smile on his lean face. "We both know Dr. Guerrero's new in town. She's going to need all the help she can get on this case. And I've dealt with girls just like Dana before. She needs my expertise."

Mention of Dana perked Buffy's ears. When she took a step closer in order to better hear, it drew the receptionist's attention, who visibly relaxed when she spied Andrew.

"Hey, Deb," he said. "This is Buffy. We're early."

The man turned around at the sound of Andrew's voice. He was younger than Buffy had expected, thirty at the outside, with sharp, blue eyes that she suspected missed very little. For a second, she thought she saw a flare of recognition in them when his gaze swept over her, but it was gone as quickly as she imagined it, leaving her to return her focus to Deb behind him.

"Actually, I think I'm going to go freshen up first," Buffy said. "Is it okay if I come back in, say…half an hour?"

Deb nodded. "Now, _you_, she was expecting." She glanced in annoyance at the man, who didn't seem the least bit abashed about being pushy. "And the only way _you're_ going to speak the doctor is if you leave your number for her to call. Otherwise, I'm going to call security and have them escort you out."

Buffy retreated from the scene, unwilling to get dragged into it. Out in the hall, however, the friendly tone of the man stopped her, and she turned to see him following her out.

"I know you don't know me from Adam," he said, offering a smile, "but I'm wondering if you can help me."

She shook her head. "I don't work here."

"I know. But you're here to see Dr. Guerrero, which means you're here about Dana Jameson. Which is why I'm here."

Her eyes narrowed, alarm bells pealing inside her head. Andrew hadn't said a word in there about the purpose of their appointment. "How do you know that? I could be a patient."

He chuckled as if she'd said something humorous. "Dr. Guerrero only has one patient in Watts, and her specialty tends to wear a little more blood than you're currently sporting."

"That's because you haven't seen me at night," she deadpanned.

Her sarcasm went ignored. "I'm here for Dana's sake," he continued. "The man who tortured her…Walter Kindel? She wasn't his only victim, and when I found out Dana was in a new facility…" He shrugged. "If I can help even a little bit, it'll be worth it. And maybe I can't. But I have to at least try."

He knew way too much for this to be a mistake. If asked, Buffy wouldn't have been able to say what the name of Dana's torturer had been, but hearing it, she knew it was right. And she knew the man had been a monster. There was no telling how many other people he'd hurt, and if this guy knew anything, it could only help Dana.

"Who are you?" she asked. "No offense, but you don't look like a doctor."

"That's because he's not."

Faith's voice made the man stiffen and take a step back, though his friendly smile never faded from his face. "Well, well," he said. "Never expected to see you again without a sheet of plexiglass between us, Faith. But gotta say, freedom looks good on you."

"Wait." Without letting the guy out of her sight, Buffy shifted so that she could address Faith. "You two know each other?"

Faith's eyes never wavered, and though she would have appeared relaxed to the casual onlooker, head tilted, hip cocked, Buffy saw the coiled tension ready to spring in her powerful muscles. "Old business acquaintances, more like it. This is the suit who hired me to off Angel, back in the day. Isn't that right, Lindsey?"

To be continued in Chapter 4: Disbelief That I Do Suspend…


	4. Disbelief That I Do Suspend

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Wes and Angel are working at Wolfram & Hart to try and figure out what happened to Spike, while Buffy has gone to Watts to talk to Dana's doctor, only to be approached by someone Faith identifies as Lindsey…

_Chapter Four: Disbelief That I Do Suspend_

When it came to thinking about Faith's time in LA, Buffy chose the path of least resistance. Ignorance was bliss. It was bad enough remembering Angel getting between them, protecting Faith when all she'd done was hurt people, when she'd done everything in her power to steal Buffy's life. Considering what Faith had done before Angel had swooped in for the rescue, however, was more than she needed to know.

Or _had_ needed to know. Because apparently, something was going on here between Faith and the cute not-a-doctor. What had she called him? Some girlie name. By the time Buffy looked back to Faith, it came to her.

Lindsey.

"All water under the bridge," he said with that easy smile. "Didn't you hear? I got to wear a white hat for a little while there, right next to Angel. He even let me walk away afterward without cutting off another body part." His gaze flickered to Buffy when her eyes widened. "And yeah, I do mean that literally."

"So, you're telling us, this is all official Wolfram & Hart business." Faith snorted. "Not even B's going to buy that line of bullshit, and she doesn't even know you."

"Now did I say this had anything to do with Wolfram & Hart?"

"Then why don't you tell us what this _is_ about," Buffy said.

He smiled. "I think I already did that."

As he spoke, he took a step backward, clearly getting ready to make a run for it. Faith flew past to grab and stop him, but he backhanded her before she could make contact, sending her flying back to crash into Buffy. The girls crumpled to the floor, and in the seconds it took for them to regain their footing, Lindsey broke into a run, racing for the glass doors at the end of the hallway. They took chase, but by the time they made it to the sunshine, he was gone.

"I thought you said he was a lawyer," Buffy complained, twisting around to scan the vicinity for where he might have gone. "Lawyers don't get the drop on Slayers, let alone two of them at the same time."

"Last time I checked, he _was_ a lawyer. It's not my fault he decided to upgrade."

The distant roar of an engine came to life and both Slayers turned simultaneously to see an old Ford truck squeal out of the parking lot. Frowning, Faith rubbed at her jaw, and while her body was still poised for a fight, she didn't run after it. There was no point. They both knew they couldn't catch him on foot.

"The hotshot really learned how to hit," Faith said.

"He also learned a hell of a lot about Dana," Buffy added. "And I think he was trying to learn even more. He was in there, trying to get in to speak to Dana's doctor. Something's not right here."

Faith stared off into the distance, large eyes lost in thought. "Hate to break it to you, B, but something hasn't been right ever since you got your little present back in Rome."

Sighing, Buffy sank down onto the step, running her hands through her hair as she tried to clear her head. She needed sleep. She needed a hot meal. She needed a lot of stuff, like Spike being there to answer her questions, and Willow and Giles to take care of all the brain work while they aimed her at whatever wanted killing next, and for somebody to try and explain to her how this new arrangement of Angel's was in any way a good thing. Hell, she'd settle for a cappuccino and some good news. _Any_ news, really.

"How bad do you want that shower?" she asked.

Faith frowned. "Why?"

"Because I want answers. And I don't think we're going to get them from Angel."

It took a moment, but Faith nodded in understanding. "You want me to hit up Wes about what the suit could've been doing here."

"Yeah. You okay with that?"

"Sure. But how come you trust what Wes might say and not Angel?"

"I don't. But I think Wes is a worse liar than Angel is, and if they're covering something up, that's how we're going to find out."

The explanation seemed to satisfy Faith. She took several steps, heading out to the curb before stopping and turning back. "For what it's worth," she said, "I think you're making a mistake not trusting Angel with any of this. I don't care what Lindsey said. Him and Angel have been after each other since the beginning. No way would Angel get him involved with something like this."

Buffy let the words sink in and then nodded. "I hope you're right." She held her chin high until Faith disappeared around the corner, sagging in exhaustion when she was alone again. It lasted only seconds before the door opened behind her, and she glanced back to meet Andrew's gaze with weary eyes.

"Dr. Guerrero just called Deb back," he said. "She wants you to come to the ward to talk to her. Something's going on with Dana."

* * *

Dr. Gemma Guerrero was not what Buffy expected. Psychiatrists were supposed to be old, with pinched noses and tiny glasses they had to squint to see through. They weren't supposed to be barely thirty, with white-blonde hair and warm brown eyes that smiled even when their mouths didn't. She wasn't even dressed like a doctor. Instead of a white lab coat, Dr. Guerrero wore faded blue jeans and an even more faded t-shirt, both visibly wash-softened. Her long hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and only the faintest hints of make-up polished her face.

She met Buffy outside the ward entrance, her hand extended in greeting as she approached. "I'm sorry I made you come all the way up here," she said after introductions were made. "I meant to make this as easy as possible for you, but Dana's behavior has taken a radical shift within the last two hours, and I thought you'd want to see it for yourself."

Buffy's heels echoed on the tiled floor, but it was a welcome distraction from the initial panic that had set in her bones at navigating through the white-walled corridors. They didn't look familiar, but knowing what building she was in was half her problem anyway, and she had to fold her arms across her body to keep the nerves at a minimum.

"Andrew said you set up shop here pretty quick," she said.

"Andrew?" Dr. Guerrero's brows wrinkled together for a moment as she mulled over the name. "You mean that guy who keeps trying to boss around all the Slayers like he's the King of England?"

"Well, I would've said queen, but yeah, that would be the one." Buffy smiled. "I think you scared him a little bit."

"God, I hope so. He was annoying the crap out of me. He kept comparing the meds I was prescribing for Dana to some movie I've never heard of, and then I caught him in a wheelchair race with one of the other patients. If he's too chicken to come up here again, all the better for everybody."

"You're going to have to tell me your trick. I've been trying to get rid of him for a year now."

Dr. Guerrero smiled as she stopped in front of a closed door, sliding a card key over the pad at its side. "And give away my trade secret? Not on your life."

She led Buffy into a small room, cluttered with furniture stacked along its walls. It had clearly been earmarked as storage, but it was the glass window opposite the door that caught her attention, drawing Buffy close in order to gaze through.

A girl crouched in the middle of the adjoining space, her disheveled dark hair falling over her face to hide her features from view. At one point, a bed had been bolted to the floor, but that was now ripped from its moorings and shoved into a corner, its sheets spread out beneath the girl in question. The mattress had been shredded as well, and the broken springs ringed the edge of the sheets. Splotches of color stained the fabric, and Buffy had to peer at it for long seconds before realizing it was blood.

"What is she doing?" she asked.

Dr. Guerrero sighed. "If she was five, I'd say she's playing shipwreck and made herself a lifeboat."

"And since she's not five…?"

The doctor's gaze didn't waver. "I think she's playing shipwreck and made herself a lifeboat." She reached for a dial next to a speaker on the wall. "Listen."

Immediately, the sound of soft muttering filled the room. "Going down, going down. Won't go. Won't. Have to…have to…" It became unintelligible for nearly two minutes, either too slurred to make out or so indiscernible as actual English that Buffy wondered if this was more of the Slayer visions manifesting themselves. Hadn't the reports said something about her speaking in other languages at the other asylum? But then, Dana lifted her head and stared through the lanks of her hair, looking right at the window. Another phrase came through the speaker, this time loud and clear. "Ask me again why I could never love you."

Ice settled in Buffy's veins. These were words she only heard in her nightmares; the last thing she ever expected was to hear them fall from another Slayer's mouth. That was when it dawned on her. "This isn't one-way glass," she murmured. "She can see me."

Dr. Guerrero looked at her and frowned. "How did you know that?"

"I know." She stifled her shiver as she locked gazes with Dana. "I know."

* * *

"…know what you're goin' to say."

Spike's baritone sounded thin coming from the tiny speakers in Security's surveillance equipment, but the words were clear, his annoyance almost tangible. Angel's broad back blocked a good portion of the bed, the hunch to his shoulders as he folded his arms across his chest instantly recognizable, and Wesley narrowed his eyes as he watched the sequence for the tenth time since first viewing the recording.

It started with Spike's comment, dry and irritated.

Angel didn't reply. He simply shoved his fists into his armpits and listened to Spike for the next fifteen seconds without interruption.

Then Spike lifted his arms, slowly, looking away from Angel to scowl at the bandages.

That was when Angel shifted. He moved so quickly that Wesley had to play the recording in slow motion in order to see him pull the stake from inside his jacket.

Spike never even saw the stake coming.

Armando, the surveillance expert, glanced at Wesley out of the corner of his eye, his hand poised over the mouse. "You want to see it again?" The tone of his voice conveyed more than the words. It said, "You don't _really_ think it's going to change from the last ten times you watched it, do you?"

Leaning back in his chair, Wesley stared at the frozen image of Angel standing over the dusty bed. "He never said a word," he mused out loud.

"Well, it's not like Spike gave him much of a chance."

"Perhaps. Except it's not like Angel not to rise to Spike's bait. In some fashion, at least."

Armando barked in amusement. "I'd say he rose pretty far."

Wesley held his tongue, his gaze still intent on the screen. The reaction was extreme, but even seeing it with his own eyes, he didn't believe it. Spike had said far worse and walked away unscathed. Why would Angel have snapped with this particular encounter? It didn't make sense.

As he regarded the video, the phone on the desk rang, and Armando reached to answer it. After a moment, he held it out to Wes. "Ms. Burkle for you."

"Wes?" Her voice was high and breathless, as if she had just made a mad dash for something. "What did you find with the camera footage?"

"Not what I was hoping for. You? Were you able to analyze the dust?"

"I was. It's definitely vampire, but I ran a DNA comparison with what I have on Spike, and it's not him. It's not even male."

The announcement made Wes sit up straight. "Are you certain?"

"Positive. I ran the test three times, and then I asked Knox to run it, just to doublecheck. We got the same result, every time."

"I'm sure Buffy and Angel are going to be quite relieved to hear that." A fresh idea came to mind. "If I sent you the footage from Spike's room, could you analyze it for authenticity?"

"You think someone's trying to set Angel up?"

"Considering what you've found and what I've seen, I'd say it's a distinct possibility."

Armando rose from his chair as Wesley hung up the phone. "If you're wanting copies made, I need different gear," he said. "Be right back."

Wes stood as well. "Have it sent to Ms. Burkle in the lab when you're done," he said. "I'll be in my…Faith."

She leaned against the door jamb, a thumb hooked in her jeans pocket that pulled the waistband down and exposed a line of taut skin. "They said I'd find you down here." She didn't move as Armando tried to push past her without touching, instead deliberately cocking her stance wider to force the man to make contact. By the time he went scurrying down the hall, she was grinning, her dark eyes dancing in amusement in spite of the exhaustion he still noted there. "This place is a fucking maze. No wonder you guys lost Spike."

His brows shot up. As surprising as it was to see her again, it was more so to hear her vote of confidence for their side. "Does Buffy believe Angel now?"

Faith shrugged. "There's no telling what goes through B's head these days. But Angel said he didn't. That's good enough for me."

Wes couldn't help but smile at Faith's comment. It was a relief to know that some things never changed, in spite of all the other things that did. "What can I do for you?" he said. She fell into step at his side as he headed down the hall to the elevator. "I thought you were looking forward to that hot shower."

"I was. Then I got leveled by Lindsey McDonald, and that plan got shot to hell."

Faith stopped when he did, meeting his shocked face with a lifted brow and a silent dare to defy what she claimed. The best he could manage was… "Did you say Lindsey McDonald?"

He listened as she described what had happened at Watts and Buffy's subsequent reaction. By the time she was done, a sense of clarity had permeated his thoughts, putting them into a fresh order that eased his worries.

"So you want to tell me why Wolfram & Hart put its golden boy on this?" she finished. "'Cause gotta say, you guys are making it a hell of a lot harder for me to convince B you haven't gone over to the dark side. Especially when your suits are packing a bigger wallop than Slayers."

"We didn't," Wes said. "Lindsey McDonald hasn't been an employee here for nearly three years now. In fact, he left town. But if he's back…" _It explains a lot_, he thought. All the strange events surrounding Angel, including the parasite, now had an understandable context. They had suspected Eve, but obviously, their general distrust of her anyway had blinded them to other possibilities. Still, nobody could have predicted that it would be Lindsey behind it all.

"We have to tell Angel." At the end of the hall, the elevator whispered open, but he was too lost in thought to even glance up. "If Lindsey's done something to enhance his strength—"

His breath was knocked from his lungs as Faith shoved him into the wall. His head slammed against the plaster, but before he had the chance to demand what she was doing, a scaled creature crashed past him, taking Faith down in a flurry of limbs and snarls.

The fight was bloody and brutal, but blessedly brief. The demon that had attempted to attack Wesley had a foot and a hundred pounds of muscle on Faith, but its size compromised its speed, allowing her to pummel it before it had time to take a swing. When it did, though, it was powerful, its clawed hand raking across her midsection to tear through both fabric and skin. She hissed in pain, twisting as if to run away. At the last minute, her body twisted back, and she lashed out with a booted heel to snap the demon's head to the side.

Its neck broke with an audible crack.

Wes ignored the dead creature to rush to Faith's side. Taking her gently by the shoulders, he helped her lean against the wall, wincing with her when the movement caused her pain. "Let me look," he said softly, grasping the hands she had covering her bleeding stomach.

Her arms were still tense from the fight, and for a moment, he thought she was going to argue with him. Then she exhaled, a long, shuddering breath, and allowed him to push away her arms.

The slashes were deep, the free-flowing blood indication of how badly she'd been hurt. As carefully as he could, Wes pulled her torn shirt up and away from the injury, but that only served to make it bleed even more, and he let it fall again to try and staunch the flow.

"We need to get this wrapped," he said. "I'll call—"

He was stopped from going to the phone by her sudden grip on his arm. "Something just tried to get a piece of you," Faith said. "Not to mention, your patients either disappear or dust. No offense, Wes, but I'll take my chances getting back to Watts."

"You won't make it that far," he argued. "And Fred is right here."

Her gaze was unwavering. "Is that how you sold it to Spike, too?"

He didn't blame her. Not really. And he owed her for saving him from the unexpected attack. The question of why she'd thrown herself so willingly – and viciously – into the fray flitted through his mind, but Wes dismissed it as unimportant in the grand scheme of things. They had come a long way from being the ineffectual Watcher and the renegade Slayer, and he had no desire to return to that animosity by pursuing a line of interrogation that would prove fruitless in the end.

"My flat isn't far," he said. "Will that suffice?"

Her nod was immediate. When she pushed away from the wall to follow him to the elevator, he slipped his arm around her back to give her additional support, an action that made both of them pause.

"You could always let me take a shower at your place," she said with a ghost of a smile. "Saving your skin's worth a little hot water, right?"

It was impossible not to smile back. "I suppose that can be arranged." They had taken a few steps when he teased, "Just promise not to leave it in pieces this time."

Faith chuckled. "Small price to pay."

He'd call Angel from his flat, Wes decided. The sooner they tracked down what Lindsey McDonald was doing in town, the better they would all be.

* * *

The room was silent, unearthly so. No whisper of electronics, no rhythm of breath disturbed the air, and not even a sound emanated through the locked door. There were few ingressions for stray noise to worm its way in, the door fitted tight to its hinges, no windows for people to see in or out of. Only the faintest of vibrations from movement elsewhere in the building made it to the cold floor, and those went unnoticed, as the room's only occupant was stretched out on the single bed.

Thick leather straps bound the form to the mattress, one around the chest, another at the hips, with narrower lengths at both ankles and elbows. The hands were free, but there was no immediate threat of those being used to liberate himself. They were wrapped tightly in white bandages, and rested at the man's side as he slept.

A key turned in the lock, and the door swung open to allow a white-coated figure to slip inside. She went straight to the end of the bed and picked up the file hanging there, flipping it open to scan its contents. "Well, that won't do," she murmured. "You're going to wake up before I'm ready for you."

Replacing the file, she walked over to a cupboard bolted to the wall, unlocking it and extracting a vial and syringe. It took only a moment to fill the needle, and even less time to return to the side of the bed, pulling back the blanket to expose the pale, muscled arms. Pushing up the sleeve of his hospital gown, she injected the drug into his bicep with an economy of movement.

"Sleep well, Spike," she said, covering him back up. It also hid the stamp burned into the leather straps, the one denoting the restraints as the property of the Watts Institute. "You're going to need it."

To be continued in Chapter 5: See My Heart, It's Black and Blue…


	5. See My Heart, It's Black and Blue

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: When Lindsey got away from Buffy and Faith, Faith went back to Wolfram and Hart to talk to Wes about it, only to save him from a demon attack; the video Wes reviewed showed Angel staking Spike, but he refused to believe it, especially when Fred called to say the dust wasn't Spike's; and Buffy met Dr. Guerrero and witnessed Dana's behavior firsthand…

_Chapter Five: See My Heart, It's Black and Blue_

It helped that Buffy could see Dr. Guerrero out of the corner of her eye in the observation window. She wasn't scared of Dana hurting her, and the doctor's assurances that the drugs the orderlies had administered would temper her more violent tendencies were more than believable, but that didn't stop her stomach from doing the cha-cha as she let the door slip shut behind her.

"I'm not sure what you hope to accomplish," Dr. Guerrero had said.

Buffy shrugged. "I just want to talk to her."

That had been easier said when there had been safety glass between them. Now Buffy stood in the same room with the girl who had cut off Spike's arms. With the opportunity staring in her face – or, more accurately, staring at the floor – she was unsure exactly how to start.

"What happens on Saturday?"

Though her voice was low, Dana enunciated clearly, leaving no doubt about what she had said. Giles had warned Buffy about how Dana lived with all these Slayer dreams, memories of other Slayers somehow manifesting themselves in her subconscious, and while Dana's earlier statement to Buffy had obviously been directed specifically to her, Buffy didn't know what this particular question was supposed to evoke.

She edged around the room, making sure to stay off the sheet. Dr. Guerrero had warned that Dana might perceive it as a threat to her safe domain, and the last thing Buffy wanted was for the other girl to think of her as dangerous. When she stood in front of Dana, she knelt down, putting them at the same eye level.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked.

Dana lifted her head, again meeting Buffy with eyes so dark they were nearly black. The glass had distorted how expressive they really were, which took Buffy by surprise. She had expected them to be dulled with incoherence, but Dana looked more alive than half the other Slayers Buffy knew. She could practically see the thoughts flying through her head and waited until Dana had settled on the one she wanted in order to answer the question.

"She who hangs out a lot in cemeteries. Slayer comma the." She paused. "Buffy."

It was a step in the right direction, making Buffy smile. "And do you know who you are?"

"Slayer. Strong."

"No, that's _what_ you are. Do you know _who_ you are?"

This seemed to stymie Dana, and her thin brows drew together in a frown. She glanced over Buffy's shoulder, seeking out Dr. Guerrero's gaze, but apparently didn't find what she was looking for. "Slayer," she repeated.

Maybe she was pushing too hard. "I flew in from Rome to meet you," Buffy tried instead. "I wanted to make sure you got taken care of. I stayed here, you know. A long time ago. So I know kind of what you're going through. Kind of." She stopped, floundering for what to say next. Her gaze jumped around the room as she thought, but it was the sight of the destroyed bedframe that prompted her to continue. "Do you want another bed brought in? I can ask Dr. Guerrero—"

"Not safe. Not now."

All of a sudden, she extended a hand to Buffy, her hospital gown falling away to expose her arm. Buffy's eyes widened at the sight of the vicious scratches that marred her skin, before jumping to the bloodstains that ringed the sheet. Why had they let Dana hurt herself like this? If she was a danger to herself, she should've been in a straitjacket. But Buffy knew the answer to that almost as soon as she thought of it. Dr. Guerrero didn't like them. She wanted Dana treated as normally as possible.

Buffy didn't blame her.

"Not safe," Dana repeated.

Hesitantly, Buffy accepted the outstretched hand, then gasped when Dana yanked to pull her onto the sheet. She fell forward, but was stopped from falling by Dana's strong arms.

"Safe now."

"Thanks." She wasn't going to try and pretend to understand what was going on, but at least it appeared that Dana trusted her. "You don't think Dr. Guerrero is going to hurt you, do you?" she asked, crossing her legs to sit more comfortably. "Because she won't. I'm not going to let anybody hurt you again, Dana."

Again, her gaze slid over Buffy's shoulder and remained there as she spoke. The similarity to Dr. Guerrero's broad New England accent sent shivers down Buffy's spine.

"If you think I'm going to let this change a thing, you don't know me at all."

"Well, you can certainly give Meryl Streep a run for her money," Buffy muttered as she shifted to glance back at the doctor. She only caught a glimpse of her before the woman headed for the exit, leaving the observation room empty, and by the time Buffy turned back to Dana, the other Slayer was gazing at her in solemn expectation. "Look. I know you're having…memories of other Slayers, and you seem to be pretty good at mimicking people you hear around you, but I kind of wanted to talk to _you_. I want you to tell me how _you're_ feeling." On impulse, she patted the sheet. "Now that we're both safe."

Dana followed the movement of Buffy's hand. Her hair fell across her face as she looked down, and the room itself seemed to stop breathing in those seconds while her broken mind tried vainly to work. Then her weight shifted so that she was leaning forward again, resting on the hand she splayed next to Buffy's.

"Strong." She looked up at Buffy through her hair. "You're strong, too."

"I know. We're both Slayers."

"No. Head and heart. _Strong_."

The simple declaration stunned Buffy into silence. Before she had the opportunity to try and respond, the lock turned in the door, and both heads, dark and light, turned in the sound's direction to see Dr. Guerrero standing in the entrance with an orderly behind her.

"It's time for Dana's medication," she said.

Buffy blinked. "Oh. That came quick."

"Time has a way of warping when you're trying to get through to a patient," Dr. Guerrero said with a smile. "This will give both of you the chance to get some rest. You can pick up with this in the morning."

The last thing she wanted was to stop when it looked like she was finally gaining Dana's trust, but she also knew that a schedule had to be kept if they wanted to keep Dana from getting violent again. When she tried to stand, however, Dana clamped a powerful hand around her wrist, stopping her from going.

"Not safe," she said. Her eyes slid sideways as if she was listening to something, and then she added, "No more mind games. No more mind."

Buffy didn't need to hear the sudden British accent to tell her who Dana had heard the words from. She wouldn't ever forget that scene in the church with Spike; it would always be etched in her memory and in that soft corner of her heart that only he had access to.

"We can't wait, Buffy."

Dr. Guerrero was starting to sound impatient, so gently, Buffy pried herself out of Dana's grasp. "I'll be back first thing in the morning," she said. "I promise."

As soon as she stepped off the sheet, the doctor and orderly were there, and she watched as they sank the needle into Dana's arm, trying not to wince when the tip pierced her skin. Buffy waited until they were all out in the hall again before asking, "Why can't I stay with her for a little while longer? If she's medicated, she won't be a threat, right?"

Dr. Guerrero's smile was kind. "Because you're exhausted. And Dana is saying things that are clearly getting to you. I really do think you'll both be better off getting sleep."

They began walking down the hall, heading toward the private wing where the other Slayers were staying. "She's scared of something," Buffy mused. "I just wish I knew what it was."

"She trusts you. That's a tremendous advantage. Maybe tomorrow, you can coax her to use her own words to try and communicate with you."

"She's even stealing your words, it sounds like."

Dr. Guerrero chuckled. "Dana's a sponge right now. She's absorbing everything from everywhere. The medication is helping to keep her from overloading, but there's only so much it can do." They came to a junction and stopped. "I'll make sure she's monitored overnight. Everything she does, everything she says. If there's anything at all that I think you'd be interested in, I'll come get you. Okay?"

It was a good compromise and all Buffy wanted. With a smile and a nod, she left Dr. Guerrero to head for the private rooms, but the hopes that talking with Dana would distract her from Spike were gone. If anything, Dana had made it worse.

_Faith better call soon_, she thought. And if not, Buffy was going to start making some calls of her own.

* * *

The fact that Wes said little on the ride to his apartment suited Faith just fine. Her stomach ached from the slash marks that were still oozing, and her head hurt from the effort it took to block out the sight of the demon flying at Wesley. She didn't need to deal with attempts at idle chitchat when she was feeling neither idle nor chatty. Sitting and staring out at the neon streaming past was more than enough.

He was out of the car and at her door before she could open it, and Faith hesitated before accepting his assistance. "It didn't get my legs, you know," she commented.

He didn't move out of the way. "You haven't let go of your stomach since we left the office, and you're still bleeding. Factor in your jet lag, and odds are very good you won't make it to my front door."

The unspoken _now stop being stubborn _in his tone made her shake her head, but Faith took his hand anyway, oddly grateful for the unyielding line of his body as she climbed from the car. They didn't speak as they navigated to his apartment, and she leaned against the wall as he unlocked the door.

"What did the cameras tell you about what happened to Spike?" she asked, closing her eyes.

"Not what I'd hoped." He flicked on the light inside the doorway before turning back to her. He eased his arm around the small of her back again, guiding her over the threshold. "But Fred's findings contradicted the visible evidence, so we aren't done yet."

"Too many fucking spies in that place," she muttered.

"What do you mean? Lie down."

Faith winced as she stretched out on the couch. "How do you think Buffy found out about Spike? She had a front row seat for his whole op. Complete with Angel commentary extras."

Wesley's hands stilled where they'd been pushing up her shirt. "She watched his surgery? How?"

"How else? The wonders of modern geekhood. Somebody sent her a laptop that was tapped into your security system."

"But who would do that?"

"No clue. Someone who thinks plain brown paper isn't just for jerking off any more." She glanced down at his unmoving hands. "You want to get the show on the road here? Only got so much blood to spare."

"Oh. Right."

But his mind was already at work, thoughts visibly churning behind his bright blue eyes. It hadn't occurred to Faith to wonder too much about who was behind Buffy's surprise. She just figured it was someone at Wolfram & Hart who thought she should know. Considering the events of the past twenty-four hours, that was seeming more and more unlikely.

And it looked like Wes was finding it as suspicious as she was.

He swabbed the flowing blood with cotton that came from a first aid kit she'd never seen him retrieve. "I didn't realize you were staying with Buffy." His tone was neutral, but the way he kept his gaze averted belied the casual observation. "Andrew didn't say."

"Yeah, well, he wouldn't know." When he blotted an unexpectedly sore path of skin, Faith winced, closing her eyes. "B's letting me crash with her while I figure out what comes next."

"You're still slaying, I see."

"You know a better way to scratch that particular itch?"

She thought her comment would draw a reaction at the very least, but the room fell silent, Wesley's hands slowing. When she finally dared to look at him, his head was bowed, his brows drawn together as his warm fingertips hovered along an injury she'd hoped nobody would ever see.

"I think that shower's sounding better and better," she said, trying to sit up.

His hand shot out and pressed her shoulder, and though she knew she had the strength to break away from it, Faith paused to meet the concern in his darkening eyes.

"What happened?" he asked.

"What does it look like happened? Something took a bite out of me."

"But not today."

Faith rolled her eyes and pushed his hand away. "What was your first clue, Sherlock? That fact that I'm not bleeding like a stuck pig from it any more?" Swinging her legs over the side, she stood and headed for the bathroom. "If you've got a shirt or something I can change into, that'd be great. I'll get out of your hair once I'm all cleaned up."

"Faith. Wait."

He wasn't coming after her, but the quiet force of his voice was enough to drag her to a halt, her hand gripping the jamb of the bathroom door. "It's not a big deal," she tried again. "All part of being a Slayer, right? You win some, you…" The next made her choke. "…lose some."

"It doesn't look like it's healing properly," Wes said, maintaining that same even timbre. "Who took care of it for you?"

She blinked. Her eyes stung. "Nobody. Did it myself."

"Did it happen in Rome?"

He wasn't going to let this go. The tenacity that was going to get answers for Buffy and Angel was going to hound Faith until she spilled all the details he wanted to hear. "No," she conceded. "Cleveland."

When he didn't press, she glanced back. Wes stood next to the couch, his fingers blood-stained, his features solemn. He looked like he was waiting for something, but for the life of her, Faith had no clue what it could be.

"Does it look bad?" she asked when it grew too unbearable.

After a moment, he nodded. "I think it's infected. Has it been tender?"

"It was tolerable. Until I jumped that demon this afternoon."

"It'll probably hurt, but you should let me re-open it so that I can clean it out. Is it the only one?"

Her knuckles went white around the jamb, but she said, "No."

Wesley frowned. "I don't understand why you'd keep these injuries so secret. At the very least, you should have received medical attention, Faith."

Something inside her snapped. "There wasn't anybody else, okay? There was me, and there was Robin, and then there was this fucking huge demon that came out of nowhere. Only I didn't see it. And I didn't stop it. And then there was just me and the demon, and it was too late to fucking do _anything_."

The jamb splintered in her hand, and she tossed the wood to the floor in disgust before whirling on her heel and marching into the bathroom. The door resonated behind her from the force of her slam, but it didn't satisfy the aching hole that had returned to her gut. There was a reason she didn't talk about what happened, and no amount of blue-eyed sympathy from the one person in the world who should care the least about her was going to make her do it.

She didn't even bother turning on the cold water. Steam filled the bathroom and dulled her thoughts almost immediately.

* * *

This wasn't the way Lindsey had wanted to do it. He'd wanted to get the information straight from the source, to be able to talk to Dana's doctor and read her as she gave him the answers he needed. That would give him twice as much to work with. People were just as valuable as facts. Knowing Gemma Guerrero would have given him all the power he needed.

That wasn't possible now. His cover was blown. What the hell was Faith doing out of jail anyway?

There wasn't time to wonder about that. If he couldn't get the information from Dr. Guerrero, he had no choice but to go to Dana's file. It was just a good thing he didn't have to worry about Watts' security system.

The halls were dimmed and quiet, his footsteps equally so as he neared the office door. The low murmur of voices emanated from the nurses' station yards down the corridor, but nobody looked his way, nobody noticed when he stopped, nobody paid any attention as he picked the lock and slipped inside. The darkness made him pause to get his bearings. He couldn't turn the lights on. The tattoos might make him impervious to electronic detection, but they wouldn't stop someone from noticing a light on in an office that was supposed to be empty. He was resourceful, not stupid.

He ignored the secretary's desk and headed straight for the inner room. Dr. Guerrero's sanctum. This would be where she kept the important documents, those that she feared most being seen by unwanted eyes. It intrigued him that Buffy Summers had shown up to deal with the Dana Jameson issue herself, but like the question of Faith, that was a problem for another day. When Angel finally realized he wasn't nearly as big and important as he seemed to think he was.

With the inside door closed against the outside, Lindsey could finally indulge in some illumination, pulling out his flashlight to peer around the small room. Dr. Guerrero hadn't been spoiled with accommodations. All the office contained was a desk, the utilitarian chair standing off-center behind it, and a wastebasket. Rounding the corner, he began testing each drawer, stopping only when he reached the locked one in the middle. That was the one he wanted. That would be the one that hid the files.

He knelt down, sticking the flashlight in his mouth to free his hands. The lock was simple, but if he didn't want anybody to know he'd been there, he had to open it with finesse. It took skill. Attention to detail. Concentration.

The overhead light flooded the room. Lindsey blinked and almost dropped his flashlight as his head snapped up.

Gemma Guerrero blocked the doorway, dark eyes flashing as she regarded him with barely contained fury. "You've got five seconds to give me a reason why I shouldn't kick your ass right about now," she threatened.

To be continued in Chapter 6: Is It Safe Inside Your Head?...


	6. Is It Safe Inside Your Head?

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy tried talking to Dana, only to walk away convinced that the girl is frightened of something; Wes took Faith back to his apartment to tend her injury and discovered older ones, only to learn that Robin died in Cleveland; and Lindsey broke into Dr. Guerrero's office to read Dana's file and got caught by the doctor…

_Chapter Six: Is It Safe Inside Your Head?_

She looked younger than he'd anticipated, more like a college student than a psychiatrist. Dressed in a t-shirt and cut-off sweats, it looked like she'd just come in from a run, her skin glistening from sweat, wispy white-blonde strands escaping her ponytail to cling to her cheeks. If he hoped to take advantage of her being out of breath, though, Lindsey was disappointed. She looked primed for a fight, not ready to topple over.

Slowly, he straightened, taking the flashlight out of his mouth and turning it off. "Well, now, this is a little awkward," he said with an easy smile.

His light tone did nothing to relax her. "Not for me. And you're still not telling me what you're doing in my office."

Lindsey never took his eyes from her as he stepped carefully around the desk. "You have a patient I'm interested in," he said. "I tried arranging a meeting with your secretary today, but she wouldn't have much to do with me, I'm afraid."

A single brow arched, and when she spoke, her voice was laced heavily with sarcasm. "Gee. I can't imagine why."

"But seeing as you're here now…" He didn't let her continued attitude defer him, and he took a few more steps closer. "…maybe we could have that meeting now."

"I only have one patient here," Dr. Guerrero said. "And you have the wrong body parts to be involved in her case."

His eyes twinkled. "That's not gender discrimination I hear, is it? Huh. I guess I thought you wouldn't be the type to sabotage Dana Jameson's treatment plan just because I'm not a Slayer."

He bandied the terms with a casual confidence, hoping to throw her off-guard, but it failed to garner any type of response. If anything, her calm demeanor pushed his respect for her a little higher. He'd only had a day to get information on the doctor, and it had been cursory at best. Graduated top of her Yale class at the age of nineteen. Gained her medical degree only a few years later. Extensive work with trauma victims over the course of her brief but focused career. Her qualifications matched Dana's needs almost perfectly. The only part Lindsey hadn't figured out was her connection to the Watcher's Council.

"Considering I don't know who or what you are," Dr. Guerrero was saying, "I think I'm doing the right thing to _protect_ my patient. Which means I'm calling Security now."

When she began to back up to use the phone on the secretary's desk, Lindsey's hand shot out and grasped her wrist. "That's a mistake," he said, tightening his grip enough to give her an indication of his strength.

She froze. Slowly, her lashes ducked as she glanced down at the fingers wrapped around her arm. "So was that," she murmured.

He never saw it coming.

One moment, he was standing there, wondering how far he'd have to go to get the file. The next, he was flying back through the air, slamming into the wall behind the desk.

The force of the crash dazed him for a brief moment, but Lindsey shook it off, hopping back to his feet. Dr. Guerrero no longer stood in the doorway, but her voice trickled from the outer room, her sharp words to Security all too clear.

There was no time for debate. He'd come unarmed. He might be stronger than Watts' security personnel, but they'd have guns. He'd survived too long to be stubborn about this now.

Pushing all his power into it, Lindsey made a break for the outer door. Dr. Guerrero saw him approaching, but she was still in the middle of barking directions to her office, and her attempt to stop him without losing the phone was futile. He shoved her out of his path – harder than he would have normally shoved a woman, but since she'd thrown the first swing and knocked him across the room for it, he figured all bets were now off.

His feet pounded down the hall, outside, through the parking lot toward his truck. It wasn't until he saw the dark shape looming against the city's horizon that he heard the echoing footsteps behind him. He didn't look back. Every second was precious, and if he dared to hesitate, he'd be caught. Lindsey only caught sight of the white-blonde hair as he slid behind the steering wheel, the keys already in his hand.

The truck roared immediately to life. Slamming his foot on the gas, Lindsey shot forward, over the raised strip that ran down the middle of each row, and winced when he heard the undercarriage scrape across the concrete. The truck was going to pay for his recklessness, but at least he'd still be free.

And he'd be able to find out what the whole story was behind Dr. Gemma Guerrero, once and for all. Because next time, she wouldn't take him by surprise.

* * *

Perhaps if he hadn't so many calls to make, Wesley would have worried about how long Faith took in the shower. She had clearly been upset when she'd fled the room, and though his first instinct was to attempt to calm her down, he knew that doing so would invite disaster. Faith was like a feral cat, constantly on the prowl and aware of her surroundings, waiting for danger to strike at any moment. When hurt, she would retreat and lick her wounds, and only dare to approach others again when she felt capable of defending herself. He didn't wish to lose what little ground he'd gained by forcing her any more than he already had.

Besides, he had work to do.

His first call was to Angel, but when he was bumped to voice mail, Wesley disconnected and dialed Angel's flat directly. There was no answer there either, and he was compelled to dig out his cell phone and try ringing Angel's cell as well.

That, too, yielded no results.

With a sigh, Wesley tried the office line again, this time leaving a vague but urgent message that Angel would – hopefully – get that evening. He left the specifics out. Considering how little they knew of Lindsey's purpose in town, and that Lindsey had had far too much information about Dana's condition, Wes couldn't be sure that he didn't also have access to Wolfram & Hart's phone system. It was better to be safe than sorry. He just had to wait for Angel to retrieve his messages.

His second call required a bit of finesse before he reached the party he was interested in. But when Rupert Giles' sleepy voice came over the line, Wesley decided it had been worth it to rouse his parents for the new Council's information.

"I'd like to say this is unexpected, but considering Buffy's determination to confront Angel, I'm afraid it's not," Giles said around a yawn.

Wes glanced at the closed bathroom door. The sound of the shower was still going strong on the other side. "I'm not actually calling in regards to Buffy."

Giles sighed. "What has Andrew done now?"

"No, it's not about Andrew, either. I wanted to talk to you about Faith."

"Faith? Why? Has she been hurt?"

"No, well, yes, superficially. I was attacked at Wolfram & Hart today, and she intervened. I've tended to it, though, and she should heal normally."

"Oh." There was a pause. "And you rang at four in the morning to tell me this because…?"

"When I was cleaning her injuries, I noticed she had a rather nasty bite mark along her side. Not a vampire. Something larger, with thicker canines. She said she got it in Cleveland. What happened?"

He heard the squeak of bedsprings and imagined Giles rising from bed. "Have you asked Faith about this yet?"

"She told me Robin Wood was killed by the same demon that attacked her," Wes said. "But I was hoping to get a less…emotional account from you."

"I don't know specifics," Giles admitted. "We have only Faith's story about what happened, and as you can imagine, those were…sketchy, at best. I _do_ know that it was a routine patrol, and that the demon in question was a Rhavros. As far as I'm aware, she killed it with her bare hands."

Wesley frowned. Rhavros demons were notoriously brutal, their venom poisonous. It was no wonder her wound had grown infected. "Did she tell you it bit her?"

"No. If she had, I would have insisted she stay here instead of going on to Rome to see Buffy. But she claimed to be fully healed from the incident, and when I watched her training with some of the younger Slayers, she was in top form. Why, how is she? Are there signs of irrational behavior that might indicate she was poisoned?"

In spite of his concern, Wes chuckled. "Might I remind you, this is _Faith_ we're talking about here?"

Giles' answering chuckle filled the line. "I blame the early hour."

The water turned off in the bathroom, making Wesley stiffen. "I'll have Faith treated as soon as possible," he said. "As a precautionary measure. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

"Keep me updated, would you?"

"Of course."

He hung up just as the door opened. Faith paused in the doorway, billows of steam leaking out around her. Her wet hair left damp streaks down the t-shirt he'd put inside for her to wear, molding the upper half over her full breasts. With her face scrubbed clean of make-up and her shirt hanging long over her hips, she looked unexpectedly innocent, and it struck Wes hard in the gut. He forgot sometimes just how young she really was. Only her large, dark eyes betrayed the age of her experience.

"So? You get the dish from Giles?"

At least he kept from glancing guiltily at the phone. "How do you feel?" he asked, avoiding her question.

Faith shrugged. "Cleaner." She paused, and her gaze slid sideways to the broken jamb for a fleeting moment before she added, "Calmer. So much for not wrecking your place this time."

"It's to be expected. From what I gather, you've been under a great deal of stress since leaving Cleveland."

His comment triggered her into moving, and she sat down in the nearest chair to start slipping on her shoes. "All the more reason to go hit the sack," she said without looking up. "Thanks for the shower. I'll—"

She jerked when he crouched in front of her, barring her easy path to the door. "You didn't tell Giles the Rhavros demon bit you," Wes said, keeping his tone as even as he could. It was pointless trying to continue the charade that he hadn't called. Faith was too astute to play such games.

"Yeah? So what? A demon's a demon, and it wasn't any of his fucking business."

"It is when Rhavros venom is poisonous." Though she blanched, Wes didn't pause, refusing to give her the opportunity to argue with him. "I'll have to look up the antidote, but considering the fact that your injury is infected, I think you should stay here tonight and let me take care of it."

"But I'm five by five, Wes. If it's such a hardass, I would've been affected by it by now."

He shook his head. "Its venom alters brain chemistry. Your Slayer healing powers have likely slowed it down, but it's still there, Faith. And eventually, it _will_ get you killed."

His wording made her frown, though she stayed rooted in the chair. "_Get_ me killed? So it's not going to actually kill me itself?"

"It loosens inhibitions," he explained. "Makes people reckless. For the Rhavros, it means their prey is easier to catch. Have you noticed anything different about your…moods lately?"

Faith's laugh was a short, sharp bark. "You're fucking kidding me, right? Robin's _dead_. I thought me mourning him was supposed to be a good thing. But hey, if you want me to go back to not caring—"

He surprised both of them by placing his hands on her shoulders and forcing her to look at him. "Your problem has never been about not caring," he said. "It's because you've always cared too much. You're simply allowing yourself not to be afraid of that, for the first time in your life. And that's _not_ a bad thing."

Her muscles tensed beneath his palms, every movement telegraphed through his skin. Though he had long ago wondered if he would ever understand this Rogue Slayer, in those long seconds where Faith simply stared at him, Wes realized he could read her thoughts as clearly as if she'd spoken them aloud. She wanted to run, but even more, she wanted to hear him out, like he'd offered her a special gift and she was eager for more. It was a trifle heady to know.

"You can have my bed," he said when she didn't speak. "I'll likely be up a good part of the night looking for the antidote anyway, and I'll feel better knowing you're resting well. But first, I insist that you let me bandage your stomach and lance that bite mark. Buffy and Angel need you in peak condition. You won't be doing anybody any favors by playing the martyr here."

Her mouth twitched, though she visibly fought the urge to smile. "And here I thought you were over being bossy. You're sliding, Wes."

"Perhaps." He let her go, but when he straightened, he couldn't resist adding, "But you're staying anyway."

Her ensuing complaints were loud and colorful, but they lacked the angry passion that he remembered from years gone past. Even when she stretched back out on the couch, her shirt rolled beneath her breasts, and kept up the commentary, Wes returned the banter until doing so was effortless. By the time he was ready to re-open her old injury, any sense of tension between them was gone.

Faith's hand touched his as he turned back to retrieve his small scalpel from his first aid kit. "I was getting headaches," she said, her voice suddenly small. "In Cleveland, after…after. I couldn't get rid of them except by going out and killing something. Oh, and a wicked amount of Tylenol. Do you think that's part of this poison business?"

Wesley considered it for a moment before answering. "It's possible. It could also be a manifestation of your grief, Faith. Giles said…you didn't talk very much about what happened. Is it safe to assume you haven't talked to Buffy about it either?"

"She doesn't need my shit. She's got her own problems to worry about. This thing with Spike knocked her into next week."

"She's your friend. She wouldn't have allowed you to stay with her in Rome if she didn't care."

"I didn't give her much of a choice."

"Somehow, I think if Buffy hadn't wanted you there, she would have found a way to get rid of you."

They both became aware of Faith's fingers still over his at the same time. Wesley watched her reaction, waiting for her to move, but when she did, it almost seemed in slow motion, like she was reluctant to break the contact.

"Not that I'm part of the brain trust," she said, "but an extra set of eyes can't hurt when you're looking through your books tonight. We'll find this antidote faster then, yeah?"

Though he doubted she would be of any genuine help, the gesture unexpectedly touched Wes, and he gave her a soft smile. "I'm sure we will," he said.

* * *

It could have been the smell of the place. Even in the private wing she and the other Slayers had taken over, the lingering scent of ammonia clung to every corner, and nothing Buffy did could banish it. She showered, and she used her own shampoo instead of the Institute's, and she even spritzed her perfume on the blankets, but as she laid in bed, trying to go to sleep, her eyes refused to close.

She kept seeing Spike. And Dana. Then Spike again. And there was that lawyer guy Faith recognized. Hell, she saw Faith, and she was the least of her concerns right now. Everyone and everything seemed to have taken up residence inside her brain, and not even the antiseptic that made her nose itch burned them away.

With the red digits of the clock glaring at her, Buffy pushed back the blankets and got up, changing out of her pj's and back into her clothes in record time. She had thoughts of sneaking out to do a quick patrol, but with this many Slayers around, she knew there wouldn't be any vampires in the vicinity. It was likely the demon community were already alerted to their presence and steering clear. It would make exhausting herself so that she'd drop the second her head hit the pillow a little more difficult.

That familiar sense of dread crawled over her skin as she navigated through Watts' dim corridors. It felt like a hospital. It _smelled_ like a hospital. How could people be expected to get better in such an environment? They needed familiar surroundings, and warmth, and the support of friends. Here, it was all white coats, and cold walls, and doctors who didn't even know your name without checking a file.

The exception to that, she thought, was Dr. Guerrero. Buffy liked her. She didn't know why, because they really hadn't much of an opportunity to interact, but something about the woman begged her trust. Part of it was probably her obvious dedication to helping Dana, even if she had pulled Buffy out of the room earlier than she would have liked. Part of it, too, could be that she just seemed insanely _normal_. Put together without being showy about it. Like she knew who she was and it didn't matter what anybody else thought.

Buffy admired that. How many years had she struggled to find a balance between slaying and her everyday life?

So lost in thought, she didn't realize she'd gotten turned around until she looked up and found herself facing a blank wall. Frowning, she took a step back, searching for any type of signage that would tell her what department she was in. There were none. There wasn't even a nurses' station nearby for her to go and ask how to find an exit. Which, come to think of it, probably wasn't the smartest thing for her to do. With the way her luck had been going, they'd think she was a patient trying to escape, and she'd spend the night hugging herself in a little white jacket.

She backtracked several yards, trying to look like she belonged without looking conspicuous. It was at a junction of hallways that the first tingle sizzled down the back of her neck, and Buffy stopped dead in her tracks.

A vampire.

Inside Watts.

Somewhere nearby.

It was probably looking for an easy meal, she thought as she crept along in the direction the tingles led her. Hospitals were notorious for that kind of thing, and it made sense that a psychiatric hospital wouldn't be any different. Who would believe inpatients blathering on about dangerous vampires? It was practically a smorgasbord.

It took passing a door to realize that the tingles were growing fainter. Buffy stopped and turned around, going back to where the sensations were strongest. Pressing her ear to the door, she heard nothing from within, and when she tried the knob, it didn't budge.

Well, it didn't until she snapped the lock.

It was loud, much louder than she'd wanted. Whoever was inside was going to know she was there, so the stealthy approach was now officially kaput. Pulling her stake out of her waistband, Buffy readied it in her palm as she took a deep breath, then pushed the door open.

The quip died on her tongue as soon as she saw the unconscious figure on the bed.

"Spike…"

To be continued in Chapter 7: Standing on the Corner of Civilization…


	7. Standing on the Corner of Civilization

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Dr. Guerrero tried to call Security, but when Lindsey stopped her, she flung him against the wall, prompting him to leave; Wesley called Giles and learned more about what had happened to Faith in Cleveland, and realized it was likely she'd been poisoned and untreated; and a restless Buffy went off to patrol, got lost, and ran across a vampire in Watts – Spike…

_Chapter Seven: Standing on the Corner of Civilization_

The room was devoid of windows, small and cramped with the twin bed positioned in the middle of the opposite wall. It didn't look like the other rooms Buffy remembered or had recently seen at Watts, but she was too invested in the unconscious figure strapped to the mattress to worry about comparisons.

His face looked fuller than he looked when he made appearances in her dreams, and the shoulders that were visible above the blankets were noticeably bulkier. There wasn't a single bruise or blemish on his pale skin, but that didn't stop from drawing Buffy closer, pushing the door shut behind her to guard against interruption. This was worse than seeing him on a tiny computer screen. This was seeing up close and personal how healthy he'd been living. Without her. Without any inclination to come and see her.

Her stomach twisted. He had been the one person to offer her comfort after she'd been brought back from the dead. Was she that awful that he'd think it was better to be with _Angel_, who he _hated_, than with her?

Buffy swallowed down the desire to let loose the tears of exhaustion, relief, and anger she'd been bottling up. He was alive. He wasn't dust. Whatever was on that bed back at Wolfram & Hart wasn't Spike.

She frowned.

Why was he at Watts? And how on earth had he gotten there?

The straps around his chest and biceps said it probably hadn't been voluntary. And the fact of the matter was, Watts was a psychiatric hospital, not a surgical one. He didn't belong here, and she had to get him out while she had the opportunity.

Her hands flew to the leather straps, her eyes widening when she saw the small crosses crudely stitched onto their surfaces. Someone had been serious about Spike staying restrained. As soon as she had them undone, she snatched up the file that hung from the end of the bedframe and flipped it open, looking for a clue about who might have approved his admittance. It was a small modicum of relief when she didn't find Angel's name, but the unknown signature only raised more questions. But the rest of the information was clear – Spike's full name, notes from the recent surgery, even the fact that he was a vampire. There was also a detailed record of the medications he'd been prescribed.

She didn't recognize them, but they were most likely sedatives, she thought. It would explain why Spike hadn't moved a muscle ever since she'd walked into the room.

Her whirlwind emotions clicked off, and the Slayer part kicked in. She had to get Spike to safety, because this was not in any way a good thing that he was tucked away with a building full of Slayers. Her mind raced as she tried to think about where she could take him, but everything she came up with left her less than satisfied.

Angel was out of the question. His name might not be in the file, but until she knew for sure what had happened back at Wolfram & Hart, she had to keep the two vampires as far away from each other as possible.

Wesley was a remote possibility, but in spite of his reassurances for Spike's safety, he was still affiliated with both Angel and the evil law firm that she was sure was at the root of all this. Until she was certain he wasn't doing all this to stab them in the back, she had to filter what information she passed to him.

The only other people in LA that she knew were Andrew, the Slayers, and Dr. Guerrero. Besides the fact that all of them were here at Watts, she didn't know any of them well enough to trust with something this serious. Well, she knew Andrew, and maybe his hero worship of Spike could come in handy, but she sure didn't trust him to keep his mouth shut about anything. That only left hotels, which she could charge on the Council card in a pinch.

She noticed the personal information at the top of the first page then. There was an address there. And an apartment number.

Spike obviously had his own place.

With her mind made up, Buffy tore the pages she wanted out of the file and wadded them into her pocket. Her next problem presented itself then. She couldn't haul an unconscious man dressed in a hospital gown away from an asylum without someone noticing. She needed Spike awake.

Her gaze caught on the pale skin of his hip, bared from his gown gone askew.

Clothes would be a good idea, too.

A quick search of the room revealed no personal effects. Though she didn't want to leave Spike alone, she had to find something to dress him in. An orderly's uniform, maybe, or…would Andrew's clothes fit him? Sweats would probably be okay, and a t-shirt was a t-shirt. It wasn't like Spike had ever complained about something being too tight. And street clothes would look more normal on the outside.

Pressing her ear to the door, Buffy confirmed that nobody was in the hall before slipping back out. She jammed the lock to prevent anybody without superhuman strength to get in or out and took off in the direction from which she'd come, retracing her steps until she was back in the Slayer wing. Andrew had his own room, easy to find at the end of the corridor, but he would be in the lounge where the TV was until the early hours of the morning, probably with enough of the young Slayers to make it easy for Buffy to slip in and out without detection. All she needed was five minutes.

She did it in two. For someone who didn't appear to care how he looked, Andrew was a neat freak about organizing his belongings.

Buffy grabbed her purse before heading back, ducking into a closet once when a nurse turned a corner and walked straight toward her. For one brief, heart-pounding moment, when she came back out again, she thought she was lost, that she'd never be able to find Spike's room, but a familiar scuff on the tiled floor rooted her again, and she doubled her pace in order to get there.

The door was just as she'd left it, and Buffy snapped it to get inside, uncaring that it would now be useless. Spike was still asleep, his lashes dark shadows across his cheeks, and she blocked out the wave of nostalgia that washed over her, the memories of that last night on the Hellmouth when he'd held her as he slept threatening to overwhelm her. She closed the door and set to work, stripping him out of the gown and working the clothes she'd brought onto his lean frame.

It was as she was trying to pull the shirt over his head that she felt his muscles twitch beneath her hands.

Buffy froze. The twitching was followed by a low moan.

With a sharp yank, she got the shirt on just in time to see his eyes open to slits. His throat worked, as if he was parched, and his tongue darted out to moisten his lower lip. "Slayer?" he rasped.

Relief flooded through her. "It's me," she confirmed. "I'm getting you out of here. Can you walk?"

He paused to consider the question, but said, "Thought someone was trying to smother me. Was goin' to say, I'm already dead." He licked his lips again. "But guess you know that."

Though she was glad he was with it enough to try and make jokes, Buffy knew they couldn't waste any more time. "I was getting you dressed," she explained. "As nice as your ass is, I don't think we'll be able to get a cab with it waving in the wind."

She'd meant it as levity, but for some reason, Spike's brows drew together in a pained frown. "There some reason you're breaking me out of Evil, Incorporated?"

"Because you're not there any more. You're in a psychiatric facility called the Watts Institute. Only nobody knew you were here until—" She shook her head. "I don't have time for explanations right now, Spike. I have to get you out of here before somebody realizes I've found you. Now, can you stand up, or do we pull the 'this is my drunk friend' routine?"

The shirt was still pooled around his neck, waiting for him to slip his arms into it. When Spike started to sit up, he reached to finish pulling it on, only to see the bandages wrapped around his hands and wrists.

"Bugger," he muttered. "Forgot about that."

"Let me," Buffy offered.

Before he had the chance to argue, she slid an arm around his back to help him sit up and maneuvered the t-shirt on the rest of the way. As soon as he was dressed, though, Spike slid his legs over the opposite side, putting the bed between them. He swayed as he found his balance, but when Buffy moved to help him further, he skittered away, heading toward the door on wobbly legs.

"Where's my coat?" he complained.

Buffy hurried to get to the door before he could. "Angel's got it, I think."

"Figures. Wanker."

She held up her arm to block the way, though his wrapped hands made it impossible to open the door himself anyway. "I don't think it's safe for you to go back there," Buffy said. "I was thinking—"

"Got a flat of my own, Slayer. That'll do."

"Is it this one?"

She pulled out the folded records from his file and showed the address she'd found to him. Though he nodded right away, his eyes grew steadily darker as he scanned over the rest of the form. She waited for him to comment on what was clearly bothering him, but Spike never uttered a word.

"Follow me then," she said, pulling the door open and peering outside. There would be time enough for explanations once they were free of Watts.

* * *

Lindsey didn't want to go back to his apartment. He wanted to go out and get rip-roaring drunk. He wanted to forget about fucking up at Watts, and he wanted to do it with beer. A lot of it. And if he found a pretty blonde to help him get to oblivion, then all the better.

Except one pretty blonde had already gotten to him once tonight. If he wanted to get past Gemma Guerrero, he needed to know what her deal was, and better, where he'd find her Achilles heel. He needed that file on Dana Jameson if anything was going to work. If things kept up like this, he might actually resort to sending Spike after it once the vampire was up and biting again.

It was with leaden feet that he unlocked his apartment door, pushing it open into darkness. Eve wasn't home yet. That was for the best. He got more work done when she wasn't around providing distraction, and tonight, he needed to concentrate.

While his laptop was booting, he bustled around his apartment getting comfortable for a long night's work. A beer from the fridge, a few more put in to chill, some music playing lightly in the background. Rolling his neck, he sat down and opened his e-mail first, letting that load as he opened the back door he had to Wolfram & Hart's security. It only offered the most basic of surveillance, but he had Eve for the fine details anyway. This gave him the broad strokes to be able to plan appropriately. It was how Lindsey had learned of Dana, and it was how he was going to find out when Spike would be getting released. After all, Lindsey had been back to work the next day after getting his new hand; even with the more extensive operations, Spike's vampire healing should have him ready any time now.

His hand froze over the touchpad when he saw the general alert Angel had issued only hours earlier. How the hell had Angel managed to lose _Spike_? The vampire stuck out like a drag queen in a nunnery.

He was reading Harmony's e-mail, trying to find out if the gossip mill had any hints about what had happened to Spike, when he heard the front door open. "Please tell me you've got better news than what I'm seeing here," he called out.

"Depends on what you're seeing." Her keys jangled as she dropped them on the table in the hall, and then Eve was sliding her arms around his chest, setting her chin on his shoulder. "Whatcha reading?"

"All my plans going down in flames." Closing Harmony's e-mail with a sharp tap, he twisted in his seat, forcing Eve to stand back. "What the hell happened today? Why didn't you call and let me know the second Spike went missing?"

Eve held her hands up in surrender. "Slow down there, big boy. I'm not even the messenger here."

"Exactly my point. You haven't been telling me a whole lot of anything lately. Like the fact that two of the Slayers keeping an eye on Dana are Buffy Summers and Faith Lehane."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Isn't Faith the Slayer you hired to try and kill Angel?"

Lindsey grimaced against the reminder. Was this whole day going to be about his failures? "Faith's not the one I'm worried about," he said. "Summers is the one with the influence over Spike. If she's here, I lose him. End of story."

"And you don't think it's just a little _too_ coincidental that she showed up on the day Spike disappeared?"

For a second, he contemplated it. It _was_ coincidental, but Harmony's gossip had also talked about Buffy and Angel's fight. It didn't make sense for her to show up at all if she was the one who'd released Spike.

"So why didn't you call me?" he demanded, changing the subject back.

"You said you were going to Watts to meet with Dana's doctor," she replied without pause. "I know how vital that was for you and I didn't want to interrupt."

Eve stepped up to him, reaching to run her palm over his chest. Normally, he found the contact soothing, but his nerves were too frayed to appreciate it, especially in light of her inability to keep him updated. Grasping her lightly by the wrist, he pushed her off, ignoring her moue of disappointment.

"You should have told me," he said. He turned back to the laptop and locked it down. "I have to go do some damage control. Don't wait up."

Lindsey felt Eve's eyes on him as he grabbed his coat. "You can't go to Wolfram & Hart," she said. "I know the cameras won't see you, but Angel has everybody hopping. Somebody's bound to – what's all over your back?"

He glanced over his shoulder. Plaster clung to his jacket. "Don't know," he said. "Must've brushed up against something."

Telling the truth didn't feel like the smartest thing at the moment. If Eve couldn't be bothered to do her part, then he didn't feel the need to share the fact that he'd been slammed around by a female shrink.

He even walked out without a goodbye kiss. He just wasn't in the mood.

* * *

Getting out of Watts was easy compared to sitting next to Spike in the taxi she finally found. As soon as they were alone in the back seat, he scooted over until he hugged the door, folding in on himself and keeping his gaze fixed on the scenery outside his window. Buffy's feeble attempts at conversation were met with stone silence, and she quickly gave up in favor of staving off her encroaching headache.

All that mattered was that Spike was alive. At least, that's what she kept telling herself. The closer they got to their destination, the less sure she got about that particular assertion. Because his withdrawal was feeling way too familiar. It felt like last year all over again.

"Can drop me off here," Spike said abruptly.

Buffy frowned as the cab pulled up to the corner. "You live in an all-night Korean market?"

He didn't even look at her as he barked, "Need beer."

When he didn't get out right away, she realized he was stuck without her help in opening the door. Buffy pulled two twenties out of her purse and handed them to the driver, then deliberately opened her door instead of Spike's. "Alcohol awaits," she chirped, more brightly than she felt.

Spike pushed past her and headed straight for the front door of the store, only to grind to a halt less than a yard away. His shoulders bunched, and his head drooped, and a few seconds later, he began heading away, around the corner and further down the street. Buffy raced to catch up.

"Don't tell me you changed your mind," she said. She stole a glance at his profile, firm and proud in the moonlight. Why wouldn't he look at her? "I've got plenty of money. Being the Senior Slayer has more perks than just getting to boss everybody around, you know."

It took a few more steps for him to growl in frustration and whirl to face her. "What's this all about?" he demanded. It was the most life she'd seen from him since he'd woken up. The drugs must have finally cleared out of his system. "I get you're probably in town to pick up your Slayer, but I'm not your business any more."

"Not my…?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You _died_, Spike! And then you were alive again! How is that not my business?"

"So you've got a monopoly on resurrections, is that it?" He resumed his march, more furious this time, and waved her off. "Thanks for the so-called rescue, but be a good little Slayer now and sod off."

Buffy felt like she'd been slapped in the face. Andrew had said Spike didn't want her to know he was alive, but the reasons had been unclear. She'd assumed – well, she hadn't assumed much of anything, she hadn't really had a chance too, but it sure as hell wasn't this. All remnants of her good mood at finding him sizzled away, and she darted forward to grab his arm, heedless of whether or not she hurt him.

"So that's it? After everything we went through together, you're just walking away? Jesus, Spike, what was the point of going through all that shit together last year if you're just going to run away because you got a little scared? Unless all of this is your way of trying to keep me from finding out you've lost your soul and you're killing again."

His anger shifted into guarded confusion, brows thick as he frowned at her. "You'd like that, would you?" he said. "Me without a soul. Give you an even better reason to put a stake through me. Tough luck, luv." He lifted his hand as if to point a finger at her, but when he saw the bandages, Spike snarled in frustration and began tearing them away. It exposed inch after inch of pale skin, smooth and unmarked, until the gauze lay in ribbons around his feet. Once his fingers were free, he flexed them once, grimacing in pain at the movement.

The reminder of his surgery cut Buffy's tirade short, and she watched him examine his arms, turning them this way and that as he tried to find evidence of the stitches. Without knowing what had happened, nobody would ever be the wiser. Without having seen the operation herself, Buffy would never have suspected.

"I just wanted to talk," she said. "That's all. And then when I thought Angel had dusted you…" With a sigh, she rubbed her eyes. That image was going to haunt her for a long time, regardless of Spike's presence. "It's been a long day. If you don't want me around tonight, fine. I'll go. But I'm coming back tomorrow. And you're going to tell me why you wouldn't let Andrew tell me you were alive. No more running away."

She turned on her heel and headed back to the main street. She'd only gone a few feet before Spike's voice trailed after her.

"Who the bloody hell is Andrew?"

To be continued in Chapter 8: Somebody Else's Life…


	8. Somebody Else's Life

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Lindsey found out about Spike being missing and got annoyed with Eve for not keeping him in the loop, while Buffy got Spike out of Watts, though they got into a fight near his apartment that ended with Spike questioning who Andrew was…

_Chapter Eight: Somebody Else's Life_

Buffy stared at Spike in confusion. "What do you mean, who's Andrew?" At his blank look, she added, "You broke through a wall and _bit_ him last year." Still nothing. "Followed you around like a teenaged girl with a crush? He even bought a coat that looked like yours. Sorta," she tried instead. "The Lord of the Geeks?" Her nose wrinkled with a recent memory. "Only don't call him that to his face. He always takes that one as a huge compliment and then it gets even harder to understand what he's talking about."

"Have you hit your head or something, Slayer?" Spike said. "Because I don't have a bloody clue what you're nattering on about."

The only thing she could think of was that the drugs were clouding his memory. He'd seemed fine, but getting arms reattached had to be major surgery, and then to move him from Wolfram & Hart to Watts required sedation as well. It was probably messing with his head.

"I'm talking about last year," she explained.

He frowned. "You mean closing the Hellmouth?"

"I mean all of it. Defeating the First, training the potentials." Nothing was provoking a response, so Buffy took a deep breath to start over. "Maybe it's just fuzzy for you. But you went to Africa, got your soul, then you came back to Sunnydale and moved into the high school basement—"

"No," Spike interrupted. "I ended up here in LA 'cause in a McMurphy moment, I decided the poof was the best one to help me sort out my noggin." He shook his head, clearly as perplexed by this as she was, though apparently for different reasons. "Why would I go back to Sunnyhell after what I did to you? Whole point of goin' in the first place was to give you what you deserve, and makin' you face the monster who tried to rape you doesn't make a whole lotta sense in that regard, does it, Slayer?"

"But you were there. I'm not imagining this, Spike. We closed the Hellmouth together, remember?"

He pointed a finger at her, though moving them made him wince and the gesture was in slow motion. "Now _that_, I'll give you. But that was only because Angel knew things were bad and packed me off to help." He snorted. "Still think it was a bloody scheme just to get rid of me. He can lie about it all he wants, but I _know_ he knew what that amulet was goin' to do."

Buffy felt like she'd walked into the middle of the wrong movie. Spike talked like he was absolutely, positively sure of his recount of events, but as logical as he made it sound, she knew it was false. She knew he held her the night before the big fight, and she knew he'd attacked Robin when he'd been provoked. She could tell him in painful detail how she'd felt when he'd taken her to that basement where the bodies were buried, and she could describe with crystal clarity what she'd thought of as she held him while he slept in that house after she'd been kicked out.

But it wasn't going to do any good. Not in his current state. He thought she was the crazy one here, which meant someone had done a hell of a lot more to Spike than just move him from building to another.

"Can I come see you tomorrow?" she asked, changing the subject. "I'm still on Rome time, and you're right, I can use some sleep. But I'd still like to talk to you."

His face was solemn as he contemplated her request. "Don't owe me nothin', you know that, right?" he said carefully. "What happened in the Hellmouth – well, that didn't even up the score between us, don't know if that's ever possible – but it bloody well doesn't put you in my debt, no matter how many beasties came crawling out of it."

Buffy had to remind herself that he was talking from a place where they'd never worked past the events that had pushed him to the soul. "I'm not here because of that. I'm here because I was worried about you, Spike. Regardless of whatever happened between us in the past, it still matters to me that you're all right."

He didn't believe her; it was written on his face. But he nodded anyway, backing away at the same time. It was probably simpler that way. Accept the unavoidable for the time being and worry about fixing it later. Spike had worked on that principle for a long time the previous year before they'd refound their footing with each other.

Buffy blinked against the sting of tears. Starting over with Spike seemed insurmountable at the moment. It had been hard enough the first time.

She stood there until he vanished inside the shadowed entryway of a building, then turned on her heel and walked back to the Korean market. Common sense was screaming at her to go back to Watts and sleep, but her battered emotions were far beyond listening. Something needed to be done.

She only wished she knew what it was.

* * *

The one smart thing Eve had said to him before he left was to warn him against going to Wolfram & Hart. Though Lindsey would've loved to get in and see firsthand what might have happened to Spike, there was no way he'd be able to avoid being discovered, even at this time of night. He could even get recognized; not everybody had been killed in the Beast's rampage the previous spring, he'd learned.

So Lindsey opted for his second choice. If Spike had walked out of the building on his own two feet, he had few places he could go. Thankfully, Lindsey was familiar enough with the vampire's routine to be able to scope them out for himself, and if it meant he got a beer at each of the bars he visited, all the better. Those proved fruitless in the end. Two hours of traipsing into dive after dive – though he got a kick out of the biker bar in the middle of a poetry reading – sent him to the last possibility on his list.

He knew before he knocked on the door that Spike was home. Colorful curses filtered through the walls, followed by the sound of splintering wood. Someone was clearly not in a good mood, though Lindsey couldn't blame him. Getting his hand cut off hadn't exactly been Mardi Gras for him, either.

"What happened to comin' back tomorrow?" Spike barked in response to his knock.

Testing the knob, Lindsey found it unlocked and pushed it open. Spike stood at the sink, one of the lower cabinet doors next to him smashed in and an unopened bottle of beer sitting on the counter. He snarled at Lindsey's entry, but as soon as his furious eyes settled on his visitor, Spike's mood eased.

"Oh," he said. "Thought you were someone else."

With an amused grin, Lindsey shut the door and ambled across the room. "I guess I should be grateful I'm not that other person, then," he commented. He gaze flickered to the lax position of Spike's hands and then to the beer. "Want some help there?"

Spike deflated a bit before giving him a brisk nod. "Don't quite got the digits back in working form yet," he admitted. A memory seemed to hit him, and he scowled as he pointed vaguely in Lindsey's direction. "This is all _your_ fault, by the way. If you hadn't sent me after that psycho Slayer, I wouldn't have spent the last two days flat on my back getting stitched together again."

Popping the cap off the beer, Lindsey handed it over and watched Spike down it like a man parched. "But you're out now," he said. "Docs wouldn't have let you go if they didn't think you were okay."

He regarded Spike's reaction closely. He'd already decided that he was going to feign ignorance of the whole matter, to see what he could learn direct from the source. What interested him the most was how Spike got out in the first place. The clothes were obviously not his, but if the faded Han Solo decal on the front of the t-shirt didn't bother Spike, Lindsey wasn't going to say a word.

Spike tossed the empty bottle in the sink, the glass clinking as it rolled around to a stop. "Funny story, that," he said, turning his back to head over to the rundown couch. "Turns out, it's not so hard to get away from Wolfram & Hart these days. Woke up strapped down at some Bedlam." He flopped down. "Slayer got me out. I thought you were her, comin' back to try and talk nonsense at me."

Going to the opposite end of the couch, Lindsey settled in, a thoughtful frown on his face. "Slayer? You can't mean Dana."

"No. Buffy Summers." He sighed, leaning his head against the back of the couch and closing his eyes. "Like I needed to be reminded of all the nightmares again. Spent enough of last year tryin' to forget what I did to her, and yet there she was. All golden and fussed about me and…" Spike grimaced, whatever memories he was reliving behind those lids paining him more than his hands had. "'Course, it looks as she's gone barmy since crashing the castle of cards, so could be moot."

Lindsey kept his features neutral, though inside, his gut had clenched. This was what he had feared. If Buffy Summers had already made contact with Spike, how long would it be before her influence over him shattered everything Lindsey had been working toward? On the other hand, Spike didn't sound so thrilled with her being in town. And one thing he mentioned didn't make clear sense.

"What's wrong with her?" Lindsey asked. He half-smiled. "She give you hell for not letting her know you were back or something?"

"That, and spouting some rubbish about me bein' in Sunnydale last year." Spike cracked his eyes open and peered at Lindsey, one brow lifted in knowing mockery. "Told her where she was wrong, of course. You bloody Yanks are always trying to rewrite history for your own liking."

"Oh?" His mind was working as fast as he could manage without giving away that he had no clue what Spike was talking about. "Which part did she have wrong?"

"All of it. 'Cept the part where Angel made me go back to Sunnyhell with his little bauble. Least she gave me _that_ credit." Spike rose abruptly from the couch and sauntered back to the refrigerator, weariness slowing his step. "What I don't get is why she'd put together such a fantasy in the first place, though I've no doubt I'll get an earful of it tomorrow." In the kitchen, he stopped, his hand on the fridge door and scowled back at Lindsey. "And why am I tellin' you all this? You're the reason she's in town in the first place."

"Because of Dana. Yeah. Sorry about that. But these visions…sometimes, they're not always clear."

Some of the pieces were starting to gain focus. Spike hadn't walked out of Wolfram & Hart; he'd been taken out. And woke up someplace else where Buffy Summers had found him. It didn't take a genius to figure out that it had to be Watts; that's where Buffy was staying, and Spike himself had mentioned Bedlam.

What wasn't so clear was who could have done it. Or why.

Or why it was that Spike seemed convinced he'd not been in Sunnydale for the months before the collapse of the Hellmouth.

"You come around tonight for a reason?"

Spike's question jolted Lindsey from his reverie, and he looked up to see the vampire leaning against the counter, shadows deep beneath his eyes. A mild rush of guilt surged through him. Considering what had happened, any selfless man would walk away now, leave Spike to get some rest. Hell, Lindsey was tempted to give in to the charitable impulse as well. But someone was fucking around here, someone who wasn't him, and if he wasn't careful, it wouldn't just be his plans that got exposed for the world – and the Senior Partners – to see.

"Just wanted to make sure you were all right," he replied with his friendliest tone. "Wouldn't want to see our champion go down for the count."

Spike accepted the answer with a grunt. "Well, your champion needs more beer," he said. "You want to stick around, you're goin' to have to run out and get some."

"Consider it done."

It wasn't the most gracious of invitations, but at least Spike hadn't kicked him out. And alcohol would loosen the vamp's tongue. If Lindsey was persistent, maybe he'd glean another detail that would provide some clarity to this growing mess.

Maybe.

* * *

Faith hadn't really expected to be much help to Wes and his research, but her offer hadn't been about that. It had been about not being alone. For a few hours, at least. Being around Buffy had been a balm of sorts, but part of the reason she and B worked so well together these days was because neither had any expectations of the other. There was new respect for the other's individuality, which translated into quiet acceptance of their privacy.

Being with Buffy was permission to be both alone and not.

But when she'd seen the demon charging for Wes, Faith's desire for that had fractured. She wasn't at Wolfram & Hart any more. She was back in Cleveland, watching helplessly from a distance too far away to do any fucking good as Robin got a huge hole put through his chest. Lines had blurred, and her only instinct was one of fury. Stop the demon. Don't lose somebody else.

She would've stayed until he kicked her out if he hadn't gone digging for what had actually happened to Robin. Then, she couldn't face the blue-eyed sympathy he was incapable of masking. Faith didn't care about whatever poison he thought she was infected with; outside of the killer headaches, she didn't feel any different. It was his quiet concern that changed her mind. That was the one thing she liked best about the new and stubble-improved Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. In Sunnydale, his leadership had been a garish costume he'd donned that didn't fit properly. LA had given him confidence. He no longer felt the need to demand to be obeyed. If someone wouldn't listen to him, he'd just do it himself.

A girl had to respect someone like that.

Though he rarely said a word after they got started, every time Faith shifted in her seat, Wes glanced away from his text to look at her. A few seconds would pass, and then his lashes would lower again, only to repeat the next time she moved. It made concentrating on the book he'd given her impossible. It didn't even matter that the book was mostly pictures anyway. And she just _knew_ that was why Wes had given it to her in the first place.

At midnight, Faith finally tossed it onto the table, where it landed with a louder bang than she intended. "How you can do this without your ass falling asleep, I'll never know," she commented, standing up. Lifting her arms over her head, she began to stretch, only to stop when she felt the bandages on her stomach start to pull.

"Why don't you go lie down?" Wes offered. "It's late. Your internal clock still thinks it's in Rome."

Faith grinned. "My internal clock would just be dragging her partied out self back to B's about now. I'm still good. Hungry, though." She glanced at the kitchen. "You got anything to eat around here?"

"Actually, no." Reaching into his pocket, Wes extracted his wallet and pushed it across the table toward her. "There are takeaway menus in the drawer next to the phone if you'd like to call and order something. Several local places stay open all night." He gave her a small smile that wiped years from his face. "Let me know what you decide. I'm a little peckish myself."

Grabbing the menus in question, Faith plopped down on the end of the couch and flipped through them, trying to find something that sounded appealing. "So what's the deal with you and the suits these days?" she asked. "Because I gotta say, when I heard you'd got in bed with 'em, I thought Buffy was pulling my leg."

She heard him sigh, but didn't look up to see his reaction. "Angel felt we could do some good," Wes explained. "After they took such a large hit from the Beast last spring, he saw it as an opportunity to take advantage of their rebuild. Use their resources for our own ends."

"Well, I hope you know what you're doing, because it sounds to me like borrowing money from the Godfather. Sooner or later, he's going to expect a favor in return, and you know that ain't going to be pretty."

She assumed his prolonged silence meant he'd returned his attention to his books, but when Faith pulled out a sub shop brochure from the middle of the stack and looked up to tell Wes what she'd chosen, she found him regarding her with steady eyes.

"What?" she blurted, suddenly self-conscious.

The corner of his mouth lifted, and he shook his head, turning back to his work. "It's nothing. I was merely remembering something you said last spring."

The last thing she wanted was to be talking about the past. Rising to her feet, Faith walked back to the table and tossed the menu in front of Wes. "Just don't hold it against me. I was flying high on Angelus at the time."

His noncommittal shrug confused her, but he didn't elaborate on his statement, choosing instead to scan over the menu. "Get me the number twelve," Wes said. "And perhaps—"

A knock at the front door cut him off. Frowning, Faith glanced at the clock. "Little late for company, isn't it?" she commented.

"It could be Angel." He rose and came around the table to answer the door. "I left him a message earlier and asked him to call, but he might have chosen to stop by instead."

But it wasn't Angel on the other side when Wesley pulled the door open.

It was Buffy.

"I found Spike," she said without preamble. "And something's seriously wrong."

* * *

On the outside, it looked like Watts slept. Lights were dimmed, movement was at a minimum. But Angel could tell it was a false sense of calm. He heard the faint whisperings from deep inside the building, the cries the staff chose to ignore, the hum of energy echoing from hundreds of bodies housed within its walls. Though nobody had told him, he knew where the Slayers were staying; the trail they left made his demon scream for release. He avoided that path. He had no interest in being caught out that night, not by Slayers, not by doctors, and most definitely, not by Buffy.

He had brought it with him, but Angel quickly learned he didn't need the information Wesley had supplied to him about Watts. Within minutes of entering, he caught her scent, rich with blood and fear that made it impossible to resist. He stalked the hallways, tracking it further and higher into the Institute, until he came to a stop outside a closed door. It smelled musty, like storage, but the unmistakable rhythm of a human heart pulsed on the other side.

The door was locked, with a pad next to it for card key access. Looking around, Angel wrapped his fingers around the knob and twisted, snapping the catch that kept it shut, and pushed it open just enough to slip inside. He didn't turn on the light; there was no need for it. Muted illumination filtered into the room from the window on the opposite wall.

Silently, he approached the glass. He wasn't surprised to see the room on the other side nearly destroyed, the sparse furnishings in disarray. He'd experienced Dana's moods firsthand, if not as intimately as Spike had.

What did surprise him was the scene she presented in the middle of the room. Even with the glass separating them, he smelled the fresh blood she'd spilled, but knew right away that it was her own. He frowned. Watts was supposed to take care of Dana, not let her hurt herself further. If this was the kind of specialist treatment Giles had had in mind for her, maybe Angel should have protested a little more vehemently when Andrew had shown up with his band of merry Slayers.

Though there was a speaker embedded in the wall next to the window, he could hear her clearly without its volume being turned up. Dana lay curled in the middle of the sheet, her dark hair falling to cover her face, the rasp of her ragged breathing corresponding with the rapid hitch of her shoulders. She sounded like she was having a bad dream. Considering the events of the past few days – hell, considering the events of her life – it was no wonder they were disturbing her sleep.

Then the tempo changed.

As Angel stood there, Dana froze, her heart slowing to match her leveling breath. He took a step closer to the glass, and when she lifted her head to stare directly at him, he moved closer still.

"Angel?" she whispered.

Her soft voice startled him as much as the fact that she called him by name. He was transfixed as she pushed herself onto her knees, then wobbled upright to her feet, like a colt learning to walk. It was probably the drugs they had her on, he reasoned. Because she'd been just fine when she'd been hacking off Spike's arms.

She hugged herself as if she was cold and stepped to the edge of the sheet. Her nails, though blunt, dug into her skin, drawing fresh rivulets of blood that stained her fingertips. "Angel?" she repeated.

She could see him. It wasn't a mirror on her side. What was he supposed to do? Just because he could hear her, didn't mean she could hear him. Or could she?

"I'm here," he said softly.

Her head tilted down, dark eyes searching the floor for a long moment before she stepped over the barrier she had made and approached the window. By the time Dana reached the glass, her hands had loosened from where they clawed into her arms. "Don't worry about it," she whispered.

She said it with such surety, Angel couldn't help but ask, "Don't worry about what?"

No answer came right away. Dana lifted a bloody hand to the window and pressed the palm flat against the glass. Her fingertips caressed the smooth surface, leaving behind red smears.

Angel got as close to the window as he could. "Don't worry about what?" he repeated, this time loud enough for her to hear in case she'd missed it the first time.

Dana shook her head. "Close your eyes," she warned.

The words were familiar. Before he had the chance to try and remember from what, though, her hand curled into a fist and smashed through the glass.

To be continued in Chapter 9: Use My Hands for Anything But Steering…


	9. Use My Hands for Anything But Steering

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Spike seems to have different memories than Buffy does, telling her he wasn't in Sunnydale after getting his soul except for the fall of the Hellmouth; Lindsey found Spike at his apartment and is also confused, trying to figure out what is going on; Faith and Wes bonded a little more before Buffy showed up to tell them she'd found Spike; and Angel went to visit Dana, ending in her shoving her hand through the window separating them…

_Chapter Nine: Use My Hands for Everything But Steering_

Angel caught Dana's fist before it connected with his jaw, but the suddenly potent sense of coppery blood made him reel backward, inadvertently pulling Dana with him. She crashed the rest of the way through the window, rolling on top of him in a heap, but it was the distant sound of an alarm pealing through Watts' hallways that Angel was most worried about. He couldn't let Buffy find out that he'd come to see Dana; that would go over as well as her discovery that he'd known all along about Spike's resurrection. Faith wasn't as big a concern. She would be on his side, and if not, she was easy enough manipulated to come back to it.

But he couldn't be caught.

Dana's knee slammed into his groin. Angel snarled in pain and shoved her off, suddenly uncaring that he might hurt her even further.

This would have been a lot easier if they'd only been able to take Dana back to Wolfram & Hart.

There was broken glass everywhere, large and small shards that looked far more fragile than they did whole. Dana was oblivious to them against her bare feet as she whirled away from the wall to face Angel again, and the fresh cuts on her soles only made the smell of her blood even more pungent. His demon roared within, desperate for a taste, and it took a good part of Angel's self-control not to vamp out in front of her. That would make this already awful situation even worse. This wasn't supposed to be about hurting Dana. He'd come to see for himself if he really could go through with using her.

But she didn't approach. She just stood there, watching him warily through her disheveled hair. For some reason, he couldn't shake the irrational thought, _Can't someone get this girl a brush?_

"I'm not here to hurt you," Angel said carefully. Security would be coming soon, and considering this was Dana, that meant Slayers, too. He needed to get out of here.

"Vampire. Slayer."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I want to see you hurt." He took a careful step back, toward the doorway. Dana didn't move. "You're bleeding. I'm going to go get you a doctor," he lied.

Another step. He risked a glance out into the hall to see if anyone was coming yet.

The kick connected with his jaw, the blood from the bottom of her foot smearing across his cheek. It spun Angel around, crashing him through the door so that it went flying off the hinges. If the alarm hadn't already alerted security to his presence, that surely would, he reasoned, and Angel flew down the corridor in search of an exit. He kept expecting to hear the sound of her bare feet racing after him, but it never came, leaving him to flee alone. By the time he felt the cool night air upon his skin, Angel knew there was nobody coming after him.

He wiped the blood from his cheek, his fingers glistening in the moonlight. Before he could think better of it, he licked it away, nearly buckling from the sudden slam of a Slayer's lifeforce surging into his system. It made him vamp out, his head turning to look back at the looming edifice, but the scuttle of hearts inside reminded him of what a truly bad idea that was. He forced himself to head in the opposite direction, aiming at his parked car as he tried to shake off his demon.

Control didn't return until he was more than a dozen blocks away.

* * *

Gemma's blood pounded in her ears as she rushed toward the conglomeration of people standing outside the broken door. Young girls she knew were other Slayers stood arguing with orderlies, and the annoying young man – Andrew, she remembered Buffy saying his name was – was trying to keep the head nurse from pushing her way inside.

"What's going on here?" Gemma barked as she neared. The Slayers parted to allow her passage, and she barreled straight toward Andrew. The smell of blood was thick in the air, and there was broken plaster littering the floor where something large had impacted the wall opposite Dana's rooms.

If it was at all possible, Andrew grew even paler at her approach. "Um…Dana's had a little…incident," he said.

"What _kind _of incident?"

She didn't wait for a response. Heedless of the girls barring the door, Gemma pushed inside, to see the window lying shattered on the floor. There was more blood in here, with a stronger scent, but there was something else, something darker, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Dana wasn't in the observation room, though. She sat on the makeshift lifeboat she'd constructed for herself in the adjoining room. Bloody footprints led from one to the other, making it obvious that Dana had chosen to break the window. What wasn't so obvious were the whys.

Why had she done it?

Why hadn't she run?

Why had she retreated back to her room?

Gemma wasn't quite as concerned about the answer to that last question. The important thing was, Dana was still here. There would be no Slayerhunt tonight.

"Do we know what happened?" she asked without turning around.

"Not really," Andrew hedged. One of the Slayers poked him in the ribs, and he squealed slightly in pain as he bowed beyond her reach. "Except Paula says she's sure she senses a vampire around here. I told her she was crazy, but…"

His words faded into a distant drone as everything in Gemma sharpened. It wasn't just her. Dana had perked up at the word as well, and now stared at Gemma with dark eyes, alight with understanding.

"Angel," she whispered.

There was no need for elaboration. Gemma knew exactly who she was talking about. She'd read the files and knew exactly what had happened prior to her arrival.

Two break-ins in a single night. Did one have anything to do with the other? She wasn't surprised Angel was interested with Dana, but the cute guy who'd broken into her office was a mystery. She might have lost that one, but it was possible Angel was still lurking around.

Momentarily turning her back on Dana, Gemma said to Andrew, "Organize the Slayers and have them canvas the area. The building, the grounds, the parking lot. Everywhere. See if they can find Angel. I want to know what he was doing here."

He wavered, his eyes going everywhere but in her direction. "Angel's usually Buffy's domain," he said.

"Is Buffy here?"

"Well, no—"

"And Angel's still a vampire, right?"

"Well, yeah—"

"Then you're going to send these _Slayers_ out to find him. Now."

In response to her orders, the girls behind Andrew scattered, leaving him looking like a trapped, skinny rat. "What about Buffy?" he whined.

"Leave her. She needs to sleep. If they find Angel, then we'll let her know. Otherwise, I'll tell her myself in the morning." She waited for him to vanish, too, but he just stood there, fidgeting. "And you're not helping the Slayers _why_?"

That sent him scurrying, and Gemma was left alone with orderlies who weren't sure what to do and a bleeding Slayer who barely knew what was going on. After making arrangements for Dana to be moved to another room, she waited until they had left before turning back to the broken window.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the girl. "I should have protected you better." Her nostrils flared, her better sense rebelling against the bloody aroma hanging in the air. "I won't let it happen again."

* * *

Buffy's story was fantastic, but there was no doubting its veracity, even after she finally stopped talking and sank back into the corner of his worn couch. She looked completely and utterly drained, like someone had left a rag doll out in the sun for weeks upon weeks, and Wes was at a loss as to what to say to her.

Faith, on the other hand, was not.

"And you just left him like that? Jesus, B, you've been off the hook about Spike for the past two days, and you're telling us you walked away?" She snorted, casting an irritated glance toward Wes. "And you're worried about _my_ head being fucked up. Might want to start seeing what we can do for Little Miss Muffet here."

Not even Faith's frustration was enough to rouse Buffy. "I didn't have a choice," she said. "You don't get it. In the world according to Spike, the last time he saw me…" Her nose wrinkled in a moue of remembered pain, and she closed her eyes as she leaned her head back against the cushion. "If I'd stuck around, things would have gone from bad to seriously messed up without me even trying. I didn't travel halfway around the world to screw my life up even more than it already was. I could've done that just fine without getting jet lag."

"Clearly, Spike's memories have been altered in some way," Wes said. "Rewriting portions to fit with some grander scheme. Most likely, it was done in conjunction with his abduction this afternoon, though I fail to see the logic in it."

"Can you fix it?"

The query came not from Buffy as he might have expected, but from Faith, her regard sincere and steady. There was an air of anticipation surrounding her, like she was waiting for him to offer the solution as if he was the only one who could do so. It left him both pleased and perplexed – the former because it was astonishing that she would look to him so truly for the answers, the latter for very much the same reason.

"It would require speaking with Spike," he said, "to determine the extent his memory has been tampered with. But generally speaking, it's very difficult to make these sorts of spells stick."

This time, it was Buffy watching him. "Because a bunch of monks had _so_ many problems making my sister out of a blob of green energy and then convincing all of us she'd been around all along," she commented dryly.

Wes frowned. He'd forgotten about Dawn. "They had very ancient magics at their disposal. And considering whoever cast this spell on Spike couldn't seem to make it affect anybody who might corroborate his memories, I think it's safe to assume that this one will be much less binding."

"Which means you can undo it," Faith said.

He looked at her and nodded. "After we find the antidote to your—"

"No. Before. We do Spike first."

Before he could express his extreme displeasure with that plan, Buffy was taking interest in the conversation again.

"Antidote? For what?"

Faith intervened first. "It's nothing. Just got a little bite from something that Wes is going to help fix up." Her next comment was pointed straight at him. "But it's waited this long, another day or two isn't going to make a difference."

"Faith, I don't think it's wise—"

But she was already moving, grabbing her jacket and slipping it on as she headed for the door. "I've got shotgun."

Wes was left staring at the door when she left. Behind him, Buffy sighed.

"And there goes Hurricane Faith," she said. "Sorry you're getting caught up in it."

He had a feeling he'd been trapped in that particular maelstrom from the moment he'd first set foot in Sunnydale. "You're welcome to spend the night here," he said. "Faith and I can stop by Watts after we're done with Spike to get a few of your things."

Buffy nodded without a word, without an argument. The power and confidence he'd seen at Wolfram & Hart that afternoon had been replaced with this haunted creature, leaving him to wonder just what color the world was that Spike had left her with. Nobody really understood what exactly had prompted the vampire's quest for his soul, but Wesley thought it was fair to surmise – based on Buffy's reaction – that it had been far from pleasant for either party.

He was halfway out the door when her voice stopped him.

"I forgot to ask." Her eyes were huge and hollow; sleep would do her well. "I know it wasn't Spike's dust in that bed, but what did you find out? About Angel and what that nurse said."

The words he chose were what Wes believed, if not what he'd seen. "Angel had nothing to do with Spike's abduction. Everything he told us was true."

"Good," she sighed. And then… "You guys _really_ have to get out of that place. Someone there doesn't like you very much, if they're willing to go to these lengths to mess with Spike and Angel."

Though Wesley nodded, he left without allowing his feelings regarding her declarations show. Because the more he learned, the more he feared she was correct. Though he didn't think it was a Wolfram & Hart employee who held such a grudge.

When Angel learned that Lindsey McDonald was back in town, Wes was sure blood would be spilled.

* * *

The pain in his arms was more tolerable than Spike would have expected, but he credited it with the many bottles of beer that he'd consumed since getting back to his flat. He hadn't drunk nearly enough, though. He was still conscious. And thoughts of Buffy and why she would come to Los Angeles, even spouting off rubbish like she had, kept foraging around inside his brain.

She was even more beautiful. As wrong as it was, he still dreamed of her on a nightly basis, and though the dreams had grown less violent since the collapse of the Hellmouth, the softer, kinder Buffy in his head was but a pale shadow of the gleaming woman who had stood at the side of his bed, struggling to get a shirt on him. That Buffy had looked at him with such regard, concern cloaking her like a favorite garment, that for a moment, he had forgotten about everything. All the bad that had led to their separation in the first place, all the anguish he knew he had levied at her, all the time that had transpired since he'd first harbored the delusions that she would someday return his feelings. He had looked at her, and for a split second, Spike had believed that every hope he'd ever had had come true.

Then reality turned. With white bandages and haunted eyes.

Though her nonsense about the previous year was obviously untrue, Spike suspected that the rest of what she'd said was not. He remembered the Wolfram & Hart doctor coming in to check on him, and he remembered Angel poking in his gob afterward. The room Buffy had taken him from was definitely not his original, and the halls were none he'd ever walked before. And she had confessed she'd thought Angel had dusted him. He did believe that part. Some of her rantings had been bollocks, but she couldn't hide her fear; she never had been able to master such pretense, at least not with him.

Spike mulled that tidbit over with mixed feelings. On the one hand, it was a bloody revelation to have Buffy finally seeing the danger of Angel and not the dark knight she'd built him up to be. But on the other, Spike didn't believe for a second that Angel would waste the effort of patching him up only to put a stake through him afterward, not without Spike being fully cognizant of what was going on.

So, whatever was going on, Angel was at the heart of it. That made finding out what was going on a hell of a lot easier.

"You going to be okay if I take off?"

Spike opened his eyes to see Doyle rising from where he'd been perched on the end of the couch ever since returning with the beer. He'd forgotten about the man being there, but he blamed that on both the alcohol and the muddle of his head. Normally, Doyle chattered away like it was going out of style, but after some vague questions about how he was doing and what had happened, he'd lapsed into the same sort of contemplative silence that Spike had.

"Lasted this long without a sitter," he said. "Think I can make it another night."

There wasn't another word until Doyle stood in the open doorway. "I'll bring you some supplies tomorrow." He grinned. "If Buffy comes back, you're going to need more beer."

It was hard to argue with a man who appreciated the value in getting well and truly pissed. Spike chuckled and nodded. "Bleedin' understatement. Maybe I won't give her the satisfaction of being so easy to find again."

It was an empty threat, though from the slight shadow that passed over Doyle's face, Spike wasn't sure it sounded like one. He wasn't going anywhere. He'd hold the regrets of that night with him for an eternity, but the same could be said for his feelings for Buffy. He would be there when she got back. Because he was a glutton for punishment.

After Doyle closed the door behind him, the apartment shifted from being nominally home to cavernous again, the walls cold and austere, the silence deafening. Spike had grown accustomed to solitude since leaving Dru, but that didn't mean he liked it. And he had spent months roaming Wolfram & Hart's halls. As much as he hated the whole notion of the company, being around that many people, at least superficially, had made the ghost thing a little easier to bear. He almost regretted Buffy dragging him home, but only almost. At least here, he didn't have to worry about not being his own man. Who knew what would have happened if he'd been locked away at Bedlam even longer?

Leaning his head back against the couch, Spike closed his eyes. It was better this way. There were no visual cues to remind him that he was alone, and he could concentrate on trying to figure out what step to take next.

It kept coming back to one thing.

Angel.

* * *

Faith had to give Wes credit. He didn't start giving her a hard time until they were both in the car and heading towards Spike's place.

"Helping Spike does not preclude helping you, you know."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. His attention was fixed on the road ahead of him, the streetlights casting shadows across his face that made him impossible to read. "Don't remember saying it would."

His mouth thinned. "I understand how difficult it is for you to accept help, Faith, let alone have it be mine. But in spite of what you think, it does not make you weak. If anything, it makes you stronger, because it forces you to utilize all your resources."

"Save the Gipper speech," she said. "I don't need a Watcher any more."

"You're right," Wes agreed. They coasted to a stop at a red light, and he finally looked in her direction. "But that doesn't mean you don't need friends."

She felt like she'd been sucker punched. In spite of their new relationship, there were a lot of issues she and Wes danced around, things neither one of them wished to talk about unless it was to specifically provoke a response in the other. Like his speech about her rotten soul the previous spring, when he'd hoped to make her angry enough to kill Angelus. It had been an act, but the intent was true, and Faith doubted she would ever forget it. And now here he was again, saying things that sounded plausible that she didn't dare believe. Was it another show?

Her head throbbing again, she shifted her attention to the sidewalk. She should have stayed behind in Rome. This kind of shit had not been on the agenda.

Wes had just started to pull through the intersection when Faith saw the familiar form step into a pool of light a few hundred feet ahead.

"Stop the car!" When Wes frowned but didn't slow, she repeated it, her hand already on the door handle, and added, "It's McDonald!"

That drew the reaction she needed. Before he'd pulled to a complete stop, though, Faith shoved the door open and hit the cement running, her knees crunching as she ran for Lindsey. The wind whipped her hair around her cheeks, and the muscles in her stomach pulled painfully where Wes had patched her up, but she didn't slow, unwilling to let Lindsey get away from her again.

He heard her too late, half-turning to look over his shoulder as she shoved him into the wall of the nearby building. His arms came up to block her attack, and though there was a glancing blow across her cheek, Faith was ready for him this time, grabbing his wrist to twist it behind his back.

"Must be my lucky day," she said. "Didn't think I'd get another chance at you so soon."

"If you wanted a chance, all you had to do was say so." Through the darkness, she caught a glimpse of his smirk. "Do you put 'em away wet when you're done, Faith? Makes the getaway a hell of a lot faster, I'll bet."

She pushed him into the wall. "Shut up."

His tone was mocking. "I'm sorry, I thought you wanted to chat."

"Actually, she's waiting for me." Wes appeared in her peripheral vision, cocking the gun she hadn't realized he'd been carrying. "Let's talk."

To be continued in Chapter 10: Mix Like Sticks of Dynamite…


	10. Mix Like Sticks of Dynamite

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Dana attacked Angel and forced him to flee or risk getting caught; Buffy told Wes what was going on with Spike, and he agreed to do what he could to restore Spike's memory; and on the way to Spike's apartment, he and Faith encountered Lindsey…

_Chapter Ten: Mix Like Sticks of Dynamite_

It only took one sweeping appraisal of Lindsey McDonald for Wesley to know he was a different man than the one who had left LA three years previous. The suit was gone, and the hair was longer, but there was a visceral strength about him that hadn't been there before, like a wild dog prowling in the dark around the edges of a campfire. Even with Faith's hand at his throat and a gun aimed at his head, Lindsey's eyes flashed with confidence, and he kept his chin high.

"What, not even a 'how've you been?'" Clicking his tongue, Lindsey shook his head as best he could manage in Faith's grasp. "And here I always thought you were the civilized one, Wesley. But then…" His gaze flickered to Faith, the slightest of disdain visible in the streetlights. "…maybe that has something to do with the company you're keeping these days."

The flare of her nostrils prompted Wes to come a step closer. "Considering my company has both the capability and the inclination to pop your head off like a dandelion, perhaps it would be prudent for you to take care what you say about her," he said. "Not to mention, I'm armed, and…" He smiled. "…I don't like you very much."

Though the joking gleam in Lindsey's eyes faded, his bravado did not. "Well, now you've just hurt my feelings."

Faith shoved him harder against the wall. "That won't be the only thing hurting if you don't start talking," she threatened.

"Except ol' Wes here hasn't actually said anything that might promote an actual conversation."

"Let's move this to a more conducive location, shall we?" Wes tilted his head back toward the car. "Faith, please put him in the back seat. There are plenty of facilities at Wolfram & Hart that will suffice for our interrogation."

Lindsey yanked himself back against the wall when Faith tried to drag him away. His attention shifted fully to Wes, all vestiges of any humor wiped from his features. "No," he said, his voice low and menacing. "This meeting is over."

Though Faith anticipated an attacking blow, neither she nor Wes expected Lindsey to vault over their heads, grabbing onto the streetlight pole and using it to fuel his momentum up onto a fire escape. Wes swiveled, tracking him through the darkness. The instant he saw Lindsey pass through a patch of illumination, he pulled the trigger.

Faith dove out of his way, but he had been careful about clearing her from his shot. The bullet slammed into Lindsey's calf, and with a snarl of pain, McDonald lost his grip and fell back to the sidewalk, landing with an audible grunt. In three long steps, Wes stood over him, the gun now aimed at his chest.

"Impressive display," he commented. "Too bad only Superman is faster than a speeding bullet."

With a fresh wariness, Lindsey edged back until he leaned against the building, grimacing in pain as his injury left a trail of blood, black along the sidewalk. "What do you want?"

"I believe I already made that clear. I'm fairly certain you have answers we require, and now we're going to Wolfram & Hart as I planned to get those."

Lindsey shook his head. "No, no Wolfram & Hart. The Senior Partners don't know I'm here, and if you drag me back in, they'll find out. Then I'm as good as a dead man."

Lindsey's assertion made Wes pause. If he really was behind all the events that had been conspiring against them, Angel included, it seemed obvious that he would need access to Wolfram & Hart's facilities. That left only two possible conclusions. He had a partner, or he wasn't the one responsible. Either way, taking him back to the offices would betray their hand, and frankly, they needed any advantage they could get at this point.

"Someplace else then," Wesley said.

Lindsey had shrugged out of his jacket and pressed it to his bleeding wound. "A hospital would be nice."

"A hospital would provide you the means to escape."

Faith hovered at Wesley's side. Coiled tension radiated from her body, ready for another attack. "Could always take him back to your place," she suggested.

"Buffy needs her rest…" Wes stopped, a sudden thought striking him. "What exactly are you doing out here, Lindsey?" he said. "This neighborhood is a little…downscale for you, isn't it?"

Lindsey's mouth clamped shut.

With a sigh, Wes shifted the aim of his gun. "Please don't make me shoot the other leg. I'd really rather not have to waste Faith's strength in carrying you to the car."

"Someone's gotten bloodthirsty since I've been gone."

"No, someone's patience is wearing very thin. Now, are you going to tell me, or am I wasting another bullet on you?"

Nearly a minute passed before Lindsey broke from the staring contest. "Visiting a friend," he bit out.

"The name, please."

"You know the damn name, or you wouldn't have asked!" When the gun still didn't waver, Lindsey banged his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Fine. I was here to see Spike. Happy, now?"

"Quite." Retreating a few steps, Wes came abreast of Faith, aware that she watched him as cautiously as Lindsey did. "Get him to the car," he instructed. "If I sit in the back with him, can you drive?"

Her frown disappeared with a lopsided grin. "Trusting me with your wheels? Big step for you, Wes."

"Can you do it?"

"Earnhardt's got nothing on me."

She didn't wait for Wesley's approval, sauntering forward to haul Lindsey to his feet. Wes hung back out of the way, ready to shoot again if necessary, but already the blood loss was starting to get to McDonald. His pace was slow, his face screwed into a tight rictus as he fought to retain what dignity he had left. By the time they reached the car, however, beads of sweat shone on his brow.

Faith was less than graceful in shoving him into the back seat. She stepped back to allow Wes room to slide in, then took the keys he offered before jogging around to the driver's seat. "Where to?" she asked, once she was behind the wheel.

With Lindsey tucked as far away from him as possible, Wes turned sideways to make sure the gun remained steady on his prisoner. "The Hyperion. The cage should still be intact. It'll serve to contain Mr. McDonald while we question him. Without having to worry about Wolfram & Hart intervention."

* * *

He got Wesley's message as he pulled into the Wolfram & Hart parking structure. Sitting in the car, Angel punched in the callback, studiously ignoring the bloody rag that sat on the passenger seat. He doubted anybody would still be around who'd be able to sense the blood was human, but he hadn't been willing to take the risk of detection. If Buffy found out—

Wesley's voice interrupted the train of thought Angel really didn't want to follow.

"I was beginning to wonder if something had happened to you. Is everything all right?"

Angel closed his eyes to stop from looking at the other seat. "I had business to take care of, but I'm done for the night now. What's going on?"

"Lindsey McDonald is back in town."

The name was a shot of adrenaline from his past, and his hand tightened convulsively around the phone. "You're kidding me."

"I wish I were. Faith came to see me tonight to tell me she ran into him at Watts, attempting to dig for information on Dana – wait." His voice grew fainter as if he was speaking to someone else. "Turn left at the next light."

Angel frowned. "Who's with you?"

Wesley's voice came back strong. "Faith's driving. We've got Lindsey and we're taking him to the Hyperion for questioning."

"The hotel? No, bring him back to the offices. We're better equipped here—"

"Lindsey's adamant about not going back there," Wes interrupted. "He claims that the Senior Partners are unaware of his presence in Los Angeles, and that if he returns, he'll be killed."

"No, that's going to be my pleasure."

"Angel…"

Through the line, Angel heard Faith asking for further direction, distracting Wes for a moment before finishing his thought. By the time Wes got back to him, Angel was ready to crawl out of his skin.

"Considering everything that's happened in the past twenty-four hours," Wes continued, "I believe the hotel is our best option for this. Obviously, Lindsey has tapped into Wolfram & Hart files if he knew about Dana. And with the events surrounding Spike's disappearance—"

"We'll have better control on our own turf," Angel finished. He reached for the keys in the ignition, revving the engine back to life. "Good idea."

"We're almost there now. How long before you can arrive?"

"Ten minutes."

Snapping the phone shut, Angel tossed it aside as he peeled out of the parking structure, the suspension smooth as he pulled onto the nearly empty street. Lindsey McDonald. It explained a lot. They had suspected Eve, and while Angel still didn't like her, he was more inclined to believe that Lindsey was behind much of what had happened over the past few months than anybody else. He knew it had been too good to be true that the man had turned over a new leaf.

A pile-up slowed him down, but he still made it to the Hyperion in twelve minutes, pulling up behind Wesley's parked car. The scent of blood assaulted him as soon as he got out, however, and his eyes narrowed as he saw the trail leading up to the hotel's entrance. It wasn't Wes or Faith's, which meant that Lindsey had been hurt while being captured. That was going to make the interrogation infinitely easier.

He found them in the basement, but here the tableau grew confusing. Lindsey was in the cage as had been expected, with his pants leg torn away and a thick bandage wrapped around his calf. Something about him was different, though, a sense of calm in spite of being injured. He looked bulkier, too. Someone had been working out.

But it wasn't only Lindsey's blood that filled the air. Faith leaned against the wall, watching the scene with detached wariness, and the stiff pose of her upper body told Angel where exactly she'd been hurt. Wes seemed oblivious to it, though. Obviously, Faith hadn't said anything. Angel hid a smile. Some things would never change.

"You should take care of that," he said after greetings were exchanged, nodding toward her midsection.

Wesley's gaze shot to Faith, his brows pulling together in a frown. "Are you bleeding again?" he asked.

She shrugged. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing. You've bled quite enough already today."

Without hesitation, Wesley went to her, his hands practiced and sure as he pulled at her top. Though she argued with him for a moment, Faith quickly caved, just standing there while he peeled away the gauze to expose the jagged gashes across her abdomen.

"Lindsey didn't do those," Angel commented.

"No," Wes agreed. "Faith prevented an attack on me this evening after I was done reviewing the security tapes."  
"Gee, Angel…" Though he was locked behind bars and had clearly seen the wrong end of Wesley's gun, Lindsey was still bright and cheerful, in that unctuous way that had annoyed Angel so much when he'd still been a lawyer. "Your people are taking stabs every which way, aren't they? First Spike, now Wes. Who's next? Cordelia?"

Mention of Cordy brought an unwanted growl to the back of Angel's throat, and he shoved his hands into his armpits to keep from tearing the bars off the cage and ripping Lindsey's heart out. "First of all," he said, his voice taut, "Spike is not my people. Secondly, what happens to my people is _my_ business, not yours. Though it certainly seems like you're trying to weasel a way in, Lindsey. Again. What happened? Get tired of ripping wings off butterflies?"

His blue eyes flashed, his smile almost a sneer. "I just thought this town could use a real champion for a change. Someone who couldn't be bought off by thirty pieces of silver and empty promises."

"And you think Spike is that champion?" Wes volunteered. When Angel frowned in confusion, he elaborated, "Buffy found Spike tonight at Watts. She got him out and back to his apartment. Faith and I were on our way over to check on him when we saw Lindsey."

There was far too much new information in that brief explanation for Angel to process all at once. "Spike was at Watts?" he started with. At least he knew Spike hadn't walked out on his own two feet. Since he'd been unconscious since being taken from the distillery, he would have no knowledge that that was where Dana had been taken. "Why would somebody dump a vampire in the middle of the highest concentration of Slayers in the city? That's suicide."

"Perhaps we should ask Lindsey," Wes said. "And while we're at it, perhaps we should inquire about the laptop Buffy had in Rome that tapped into Wolfram & Hart's security cameras."

Angel's mind boggled. "Is _that_ how she found out?" That was directed at Faith. "She was spying on me?"

"B didn't even _talk_ about you until someone decided to gift her with the candid camera," Faith shot back. "She watched Spike's op, and then hopped the pond to find out what the hell was going on."

Another puzzle piece. Angel wished he'd known those were the circumstances before she'd shown up. He wouldn't have been so gruff with her if he knew she'd been forced to witness Spike's operation, too.

Though Faith was putting up a brave face, Angel could smell her exhaustion. There was a roundness to her shoulders, and her hand was resting protectively over her stomach, as if shielding it from further attack.

Taking Wes by the elbow, Angel pulled him aside, out of earshot of both Faith and Lindsey. "Why don't you get her out of here?" he murmured. "She's dead on her feet, and the day we've all had…you could both use a good night's sleep."

Wes glanced over his shoulder at the cage. "Are you certain you don't want our help?" he asked. "Lindsey's not the same man he was before. His strength and physical prowess have been enhanced, by magic, most likely. He even managed to overcome both Buffy and Faith this afternoon at Watts."

"I think I'll manage. But thanks for the warning."

Wesley still looked uncertain, but after a moment, he nodded in agreement. "I convinced Buffy to spend the night at my flat instead of going back to Watts," he said, gesturing to Faith to join them. "And if you're taking care of Lindsey, I can concentrate on the issue of Spike."

"Sounds like a plan." Sauntering back to the cage, Angel pulled up a nearby dusty chair and straddled it, watching Lindsey through hooded eyes as Wes and Faith left the basement. "You've been busy," he commented when it was just the two of them. "Making new friends, getting shot. It's been a full night for you."

Lindsey grinned. "And what did you do, Angel? Sign a few checks? But hey, at least it keeps the writing hand in shape, right?" His gaze flickered over him. "If not the rest of you."

The events of the day came crashing back, ruining any mood for going back and forth like they were wont to do. "Was it fun for you?" Angel demanded. "Whatever this thing you're doing with Spike is, did you _really_ have to drag Buffy into it? The last thing she needs is him back in her life."

Lindsey's smile vanished. "And the last thing _I_ need is Spike getting distracted having her around. Whoever sent her the laptop, it wasn't me." He rose from his chair and hobbled to the bars, putting only a few inches between them. "You're in the belly of the beast, Angel. Can't say I'm surprised I'm not the only one looking to get a piece of you."

He could be lying. As Angel sat there regarding Lindsey, he knew it was entirely possible that the man was lying through his teeth to save his own ass. Shift the blame to an unknown third party and distract Angel from the true goal here. But what _was_ the true goal? Lindsey had to know that Angel wouldn't be satisfied with noncommittal answers, even when it came to Spike. Wes and Faith were getting hurt now, and how Buffy had found out was the worst possible scenario Angel could imagine. Lindsey had to understand that all this was going to do was piss him off.

Maybe that was the whole purpose. Just one big game.

But what did Dana have to do with anything? Wes said Lindsey had first been spotted at Watts, trying to get information on her. If he was privy enough to Wolfram & Hart's dealings to know that was where she was being kept, did that mean he was also aware of the Senior Partners' interest in Dana? Was he trying to give them what Angel was reluctant to?

"You're not really going to keep me locked up here, are you?" Lindsey was trying his good ol' boy, aw shucks grin now. Angel had the urge to smack it off his face. "I mean, we're on the same side here. Or at least, we were until you sold your soul."

His gaze never wavered. "The only side you've ever been on was your own, Lindsey. And we're not going anywhere until you tell me exactly what it is I want to know."

* * *

"Don't tell me you don't know where he is. You've only got one real job right now, Eve, and if you can't even manage to do _that_ right—"

"He'll be back. I know he will." Pacing around the room, Eve rubbed her eyes as she tried not to let the strident voice on the phone get to her. She had to stay calm. Any sign of weakness and this would be the end of her. "This thing with Spike really threw him. I told you it was a mistake not to let him know."

"It wasn't a mistake. He was right there at Watts as Spike was getting taken in. Alerting him of the problem would've pre-empted our plans."

"And I've had to improvise enough already today," Eve muttered.

There was a long and deadly silence on the line. "What do you mean, you've had to improvise?"

"I mean, Wesley not believing the videotape. He even told Armando to send it to Fred for analysis. I barely had enough time to get a demon down to Security to take care of him."

The long stream of curses was followed by a deep breath. Eve wondered why a dead woman had to breathe at all.

"You _know_ I made the arrangements to alter Spike's memory to counter Wesley's mistrust of the evidence. If we can't turn him from Angel with Spike, exposing the memory wipe is our only hope. I told you _explicitly_ that Wesley was not to be touched."

Eve rolled her eyes. "Gee, Lilah, biased much? Besides, the Slayer got in the way. He walked out of the building on his own two feet."

"Lucky for you." Lilah's voice grew hollow, like she was stepping into an empty corridor. Eve wondered where she was calling from. Most likely, Wolfram & Hart. She haunted those halls, always staying unseen, ready to strike at a moment's notice. "No more deviating from the plan. I've given you everything you need to control Lindsey, and if you choose to fuck that up, it's going to be your head that rolls." She laughed. "They've already got mine once."

"Lindsey won't be a problem. The Senior Partners can trust me."

"Fat lot of good that's turning out to be."

The line went dead without a salutation, leaving Eve to hang up the phone in the silent apartment. Her hopes that Lindsey would come home that night were slim, but his markings made it impossible for her to find him. It was only her contact with him that kept him in the Senior Partners' radar, and if she lost him at this point, Eve had little doubt that Lilah's prediction would come true.

Her mouth was grim as she started the shower. It was pointless to go out and look for Lindsey; it would make her look suspicious. He'd come home.

He had nowhere else to go.

To be continued in Chapter 11: Just a Minute While I Reinvent Myself…


	11. Just a Minute While I Reinvent Myself

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was. Dialogue taken from AtS S4 Episode, "Salvage."

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Wesley took Lindsey to the Hyperion for questioning, leaving Angel to the job, leaving Wes to take Faith back to his place to work on the Spike issue…

_Chapter Eleven: Just a Minute While I Reinvent Myself_

Buffy woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of a clipped English accent detailing events in a part of the world with too many k's and z's in its name. Blearily, she opened her eyes, grimacing at the crusty feel of her lashes sticking together, and peered around the dim room. It took a second to remember where she was and why her neck was so stiff. Wesley's apartment. She was on the couch, where she'd fallen asleep the night before in spite of her whirling thoughts and his offer of his bed. She groaned as she sat up. Next time, she'd be a lot less noble about turning down a comfy mattress.

The TV was dark, which meant the news program was coming from something else. Buffy followed the sound to the kitchen, where she found Wesley standing at the stove. A laptop on the counter was streaming BBC World News, and he kept stealing glances at it as he stirred the scrambled eggs.

"Please tell me the coffee is for sharing," Buffy said.

At the sound of her voice, Wes looked over and gave her a smile. "Help yourself," he replied. "There's milk in the refrigerator, and sugar is in the small bowl to the left of the coffeemaker."

He was turning off the burner by the time she had her hands cradled around a wide mug, and Buffy watched him as he dished out the breakfast he'd prepared. Though his movements were crisp and sure, the dark shadows below Wesley's eyes betrayed his lack of sleep. His clothes were clean, though. Obviously at some point, he'd at least had the chance to shower and clean up.

She finally found the courage to ask him what she was dying to when he carried plates out to the living room. "How'd it go with Spike last night?"

"We didn't actually get around to seeing Spike," he said. Briefly, he described running into the lawyer that Faith had known and their subsequent trip to Angel's old hotel. "In the end, I decided it was more important to make sure Faith's injuries were taken care of. Evaluating Spike's condition was simply meant to speed my attempts at fixing his memory. I don't think that'll be necessary now."

Buffy sat down, her stomach grumbling at the smell of cooked food. "How come?"

"I found a means to counter memory spells that I think is going to work. If it doesn't, then I'll interview Spike to try and further glean what was done to him."

Nodding, she bit into a piece of toast, the center soggy from too much melted butter. "Hopefully sleep helped put him in a better mood, too."

Wesley's smile was wry, and he vanished back into the kitchen without speaking another word. It left Buffy to her too-loud thoughts, memories of how Spike had reacted to her on the street searing her inner eye. How would her life be different now if Spike hadn't come back to Sunnydale after getting his soul? It was too out there to even contemplate. The Spike she knew – _her_ Spike – would never have stayed away. He didn't back down from challenges, and if life in Sunnydale after the attempted rape was so hard, then he would have been first in line to weather it. It was just who he was.

But that brought her back to her original question. Why didn't he want her to know he was alive? Didn't everything they went through matter any more to him? How could he have forgotten the things she said to him those last few days?

The only way to get answers was to fix his brain and ask him. And Buffy wasn't going anywhere until she was satisfied.

It wasn't until Wes returned from the kitchen that it dawned on her she hadn't seen or heard Faith since waking. At her query, he gestured toward the front door.

"We didn't have the opportunity to go to Watts and fetch your things last night," he explained. "So she took my motorcycle when she woke up this morning to get them. As soon as she's back, you can shower and get cleaned up. Then we'll go to Spike's."

They ate in companionable silence while each got lost in his or her thoughts. It was weird. Though Buffy had known about Wesley's affiliation with Angel, and she knew from what Giles had told her that he'd changed over the years, it still struck her as offputting to see him wear stubble and scars with a quiet self-assurance that was completely opposite to how she'd known him in Sunnydale. Her head was telling her to still be wary because of the whole evil law firm thing, but her gut was pushing her to trust him more and more. The way that Faith seemed to, without uttering more than a few words in his defense.

"So you and Faith…" She waited until he glanced up from his eggs. "…you two seem to be working pretty good together these days."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "The same could be said for you."

Typical British non-answer, even if it was mostly accurate. "What was she talking about last night about a demon bite?"

This time, she saw Wes hesitate. "An injury she received that wasn't treated properly," he replied. "I'm going to take care of it for her as soon as we have this issue with Spike resolved."

Buffy wracked her brain, trying to remember the last time Faith had gotten seriously hurt. They hadn't fought at each other's sides since splitting up in Cleveland, and Giles hadn't mentioned anything but the attack that had killed Robin. "Do you know about what happened to her?" she asked carefully. She wasn't going to be the one to spill Faith's secrets, but Cleveland was the only possibility she could think of.

There was no mistaking his reaction. Time had taught Wesley empathy.

"I spoke with Giles. He gave me the broad strokes," he admitted. His soft voice carried in spite of his low tones. "Faith filled in a few additional details."

He might as well have said Faith had dyed her hair blonde and lip-synched Britney Spears for a local beauty pageant. "Faith did _what_?" Buffy exclaimed.

Wes chuckled. "I _was_ rather insistent. And perhaps she felt it was simply time to talk about it. Her time with you has been therapeutic, I'm sure, but these things have a way of building up. I was likely just in the right place at the right time."

Buffy thought there was probably more to it than that, but his wary wording made it clear that it was pointless to press. "Losing Robin was tough for her," she said. "I think she feels guilty because things weren't all peaches and cream between them when it happened."

"Why? What happened?"

"Robin was getting way more serious than Faith wanted to be, which I can't blame her because, really, if there's anybody with more Slayer issues than Spike, it was Robin. He kept petitioning Giles to get instated as her Watcher, and the first time Giles brought it up to Faith, she went out and got so drunk that she torched the wrong vampire nest and ended up incinerating Mr. Harold Sherman, grandfather of twelve and loved husband, instead. Unfortunately, that only convinced Robin that he really was right. They were still fighting about it when he was killed."

Wesley absorbed the story with a quiet aplomb, nodding as if in agreement when she was done. "Accepting help has never been Faith's strong suit."

"And yet, she accepted yours."

His smile was enigmatic. "Time will tell if that's true."

The sound of the front door opening and closing put a halt to their conversation, and seconds later, Faith came strolling in, both hers and Buffy's bags slung over her shoulder. Her cheeks were reddened, her hair unkempt, and there was a gleam in her eye that Buffy hadn't seen in a very long time.

"First thing I'm doing when Giles gets me assigned again," Faith said, grabbing a piece of toast before flopping into an opposite chair, "is buying myself a set of wheels. Man, Wes, yours is sweet. I felt like I was fucking flying out there with all that wind."

That explained the fresh exuberance Buffy had never seen in her outside of a nightclub. Faith had tasted freedom and reveled in it, in the way she took a hold of so much of life. Even after all these years, Buffy was still jealous of how she could do that.

Wes just seemed mostly amused.

"I take it you didn't have any problems handling it," he commented.

"All five by five, boss. Mind if I drive it over to Spike's?"

"I heard there was a storm coming in."

"You think I can't hold my own against a few bumps and bruises?"

He smiled. "Let's consider it when the time arrives, shall we?"

Watching Faith and Wes speak so familiarly with each other – god, they weren't flirting, were they? – left Buffy feeling very much the odd Slayer out. She rose from the chair and grabbed her bag, backing away with an apologetic smile.

"I'll be fast," she said. "I want to get this stuff with Spike taken care of as soon as possible."

* * *

The rain started just as they pulled to a stop in front of Spike's apartment building. The driving wind made it sting where it hit their skin, and all three ducked their heads to protect their faces as they made mad dashes from the vehicles to the front entrance.

From the second he opened the door to them, Faith saw that Spike was less than thrilled by his visitors. They probably looked awful, with hair damp from the rain and hers made wild where the wind had picked up the ends, but his appearance wasn't much better. He looked as if they'd woken him up, the Star Wars t-shirt he wore rumpled, his sweats hanging loose from his slim hips. His feet were bare as he retreated back to the solitariness of his apartment without saying a word, and he held his arms stiffly at his sides, like it hurt to move them.

Buffy wrinkled her nose when they entered, the reek of beer filling the stale air, but either it didn't bother her enough to comment on it aloud or she was too afraid to say something that would get them kicked out. Faith was going to bet it was the latter.

Wes was the first to break the silence.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Spike rolled his neck before straddling one of the straight-backed chairs at the small dining room table. "Spent half the night gettin' pissed so I couldn't feel the pain, and the other half wishing I had more beer." He cast only a cursory glance in Buffy's direction and ignored Faith entirely. It dawned on her that if what Buffy said was true, in Spike's head, he had never met Faith. "Tell Angel he can get Harm to send some over. Tell him he's getting off cheap. Better the beer than whatever he's paying those medical wankers."

"Sounds like my kind of recovery," Faith commented with a grin.

Speaking up drew Spike's attention to her, and his eyes narrowed as he scanned her over. "Who's this?" he asked, though the question was posed to Wesley.

Buffy answered first. "This is Faith. She came with me from Rome. You met her last spring, remember?"

The argument flared for a second before recognition came to him, and slowly, Spike nodded. "In the Hellmouth. You're the other Slayer. Well, before there were other other Slayers."

"You don't remember getting into a fight with her?" Buffy's query had more than a touch of hope in it. To Faith, it stank of desperation. "When they kicked me out of my house. You and Faith got into it when you got back from the monastery with Andrew."

Spike snorted. "Gotta say, these flights of fancies of yours keep gettin' better and better, Slayer. Now you've got me hanging about with monks. These the same blokes who fashioned Dawn for us?"

It was Wesley's turn to intervene. "Are you saying you don't remember Andrew?"

With a growl, Spike lurched to his feet and began prowling around the room. "Don't tell me she's got _you_ believing her nonsense now," he complained. "You're s'posed to be the smart one. Or do all you Watcher types have a weakness for thinking the best of a Slayer?"

Faith caught Wesley's glance at her before he moved to address Spike more directly. "Buffy came to me last night to let me know that she'd found you," he said. "And yes, she has concerns about the state of your memory. But I'm not here because I necessarily believe her."

"Huh? You said—"

Wes continued as if Buffy hadn't spoken up. "Something happened yesterday, Spike. We still haven't determined what it was exactly, but someone went through a great deal of trouble to remove you from Wolfram & Hart facilities. Did Buffy tell you that the security tapes showed you being dusted?"

Some of his annoyance faded, to be replaced with a growing confusion. "She said something or other 'bout bein' afraid of me bein' dust, but we didn't get into particulars."

"And then you were discovered in a psychiatric facility. With a building full of Slayers. You don't find that odd?"

"Truth be told, mate, been tryin' not to think of it at all."

Wesley placed the bag he'd carried in on the table, taking care with its content. Before they'd left his apartment, he'd given Buffy firm instructions on how to keep it from getting jarred on the trip over, and now he reached in to extract what he'd needed held so preciously.

It was a glass cube, golden and glowing from some internal illumination. It fit in the palm of his hand, but even completely still, the cube seemed to move, the small flecks of light inside dancing around like fireflies.

Spike leaned forward to peer at it in curiosity. "What's that?"

"It's called an Orlon Window. Most practitioners of magic use it as a focusing tool. It allows them to be unfazed by external forces that might disrupt their concentration or attempt to persuade them that something is real when it's not. I learned of its existence when I was researching memory spells last night, trying to determine what could have been done to you. Interestingly enough, the Artifacts Department at Wolfram & Hart has several in their possession, so I had one delivered to my flat this morning."

"And? What's it do?"

"In its current state, not a lot," Wes admitted. "But if it gets broken in the presence of someone who's had his mind altered in some fashion, the power it releases shatters the spell, thus restoring that person's original memories."

"My noggin is just fine." Spike hooked his thumb toward Buffy. "The Slayer's the one who's off her box."

"Then the Window will still have done its job. The objective here is to lift any veils from either of your minds, Spike. In the end, all we want is the truth."

Everyone waited while Spike contemplated the glowing cube. They had discussed the implications of what breaking the Orlon Window might do to Buffy and Faith, how their memories of Dawn might be altered in some way, but both women were prepared for the consequences. Since their accounts of the previous year matched each other's and not Spike's, they weren't worried about anything else that might happen. And the end result would be worth it.

Finally, Spike nodded. "Get to it," he said, his voice resigned. "If it fixes what's wrong, then that's all I care about."

Wesley nodded. He moved his arm so that the hand that held the cube hovered over the bare floor instead of the table, and in a slow, liquid motion, let it go.

All eyes followed the golden path of the Orlon Window as it fell. When the delicate glass made contact with the hard floor, it shattered into tiny fragments, releasing an explosion of blinding light that Faith felt like a rush of searing ice slamming into her. It propelled everybody back, into the walls, into the furniture, away from the epicenter. It left all but Spike breathless.

_"You think you can just breeze in here, telling everyone what to do? You're not a part of this. If you think I'm not gonna kill Angelus if he comes at me, then—"_

_"Listen up, junior. When I need a blood hound, I'll call you. If Angelus needs putting down, I'll be the one to do it, not you. So... is there anything else you're not okay with? Good."_

She heard the conversation in her head, as clear as day. She saw him in the dark, when they'd been on the prowl for Angelus, sniffing out the trail. She remembered slamming him to the wall after he'd dusted the vampire, and she remembered sending him home with Gunn because he couldn't follow directions.

Connor.

Angel's kid.

How had she forgotten about him?

Faith was still puzzling it over as she pushed herself back to her feet. When she concentrated, she could feel both sets of memories, the ones that had just been shoved back into her head by Wesley's glass box, and the ones she'd walked in with, when it had just been her and Wes who'd gone after Angelus and the Beast. Why she'd have two, though, she had no idea.

She turned to Wes to ask him his theory on the whole deal and promptly froze.

He had already gotten back to his feet. Everything about Wes had gone completely still, his clear gaze fixed on some unknown point on the wall over Spike's head, and he looked like he was going to be sick any second. He didn't even respond when Faith called his name.

She took a step closer and tried again. "Wes?"

He blinked. Slowly, Wes turned his head to meet Faith's worried eyes, but instead of answering her, he took a long, deep breath, then walked over to the door and out.

It only took one glance at Buffy to know where her focus was at the moment. Without saying a word, Faith took off after Wes, leaving Buffy and Spike watching each other across the room.

To be continued in Chapter 12: A Man Cut from the Know…


	12. A Man Cut from the Know

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Wesley, Faith, and Buffy showed up at Spike's, where Wes used an Orlon Window to try and revert Spike's memories, only to break the memory spell Angel had received as part of the Wolfram & Hart deal, too…

_Chapter Twelve: A Man Cut from the Know_

The first thought that went through Spike's head was, _I wish people would leave my bloody head alone!_

The second came right on top of the first, spurred by the sight of a certain Slayer sitting up against the wall on the other side of the room.

_She came. She actually came._

The shattering of the Orlon Window had felt like a Fyarl picking him up single-handedly by the head and then giving him a vicious shake, cascading thoughts and images and emotions in a flurried tumble. There were those he had believed only moments earlier to be true, like how Angel's fist had felt slamming into his jaw the first time he saw him after coming back from Africa, and then there were those Spike knew were the real truth, like the look of shock on Buffy's face when he'd opened that door in the basement and seen her for the first time in the flesh since getting the soul. Each felt as solid as the other, but coping with the duality wasn't as hard as he might have thought. After all, he'd lived with the multiple realities in those months of crazy in the high school basement and longer. This was just more of the same.

Except he had Buffy here. And she had come of her own volition because she'd been worried about him. She'd sought him out specifically, and she'd done everything in her power to find him when she'd thought he was missing.

And he'd acted like a right prat with her because he'd been wracked with guilt and fear that he'd resolved – or at least managed – months ago.

Her eyes seemed to consume her face as she watched him from across the room. It always amazed Spike how luminous they became when she wasn't smiling or scowling. Her features were far too animated then for the expressiveness of her eyes to properly flourish. But in moments like these, when she looked at him as if she expected him to hang the moon – like she'd looked at him at the bottom of the Hellmouth, right before he'd booted her to the surface – Spike almost believed that he could, that with her, he could do anything if he set his mind to it.

She came.

And he hadn't gone to her.

Buffy still wasn't moving, frozen against the wall as if the effects of the Orlon Window had pinned her like some fragile butterfly. Gingerly, Spike pushed himself up, but bracing against his arms caused licks of fiery pain to shoot up the tendons, making him grimace and fall back onto his ass. He regarded Buffy carefully, wondering why Wesley and Faith had scarpered off to leave him alone to deal with her, but in light of what was likely to come, he couldn't say he could blame them.

Buffy was the first to break their silent showdown.

"Are you all right?" she asked warily.

He couldn't help himself. He snorted in amusement.

"Just got shaken and stirred to prove you were right all along, luv," he said. "'Course, I'm right as rain."

Buffy's face hardened at his unintended sarcasm. "I did it to help, Spike. And if I wanted to have to deal with you being an asshole about it, I would've told Wes not to bother. But I didn't. Because I knew you'd want to be the real you as much as I did." She took a deep breath, her gaze ducking for a moment. When she looked up again, the ghosts were back in her eyes. "Just tell me you remember. Tell me I wasn't alone last year. Tell me it fixed what was wrong."

He didn't care about the pain in his arms. It wasn't anything compared to what he heard in her voice.

She didn't look away as he crouched in front of her, and she didn't flinch when he held his hand out to her, palm up, exposing the small scars that still riddled his palm. Spike wished desperately he could see her hand, to know if the marks had lingered with her, too, but for now, he was simply grateful she was there.

"I remember," he murmured. "And you're not alone, Buffy."

There was more he wanted to say, like _You don't have to be alone any more, if that's what you want_, but Spike was too afraid he'd fucked things up for good this time to push his luck like that just yet.

Buffy blinked. It was a motion that went so slowly, he swore he could each eyelash in the space of time it took for her to open them again. When her gaze returned to his, more of her anger was gone. "Are you going to tell me why you didn't let me know?" she asked quietly.

He had practiced this speech, so many times, in so many different ways, that he thought he had it down. Having Buffy right in front of him, however, in the mood each was in, made all the words disappear, and Spike felt like a floundering poet again, in search of the right rhyme that wouldn't destroy the whole poem.

"First thing I did after I was magicked out of the amulet was ask about you," he said. "Did they tell you I was a ghost there for awhile?"

She nodded. He wondered if she was refraining from talking because she was afraid of what she was going to say or because she was afraid he would stop altogether.

"Tried leaving the city to get to you, but whatever brought me back kept popping me to the lawyers as soon as I got far enough away. I didn't have a choice but to stick around. Least…while I wasn't solid."

"You're solid now. You were solid when Dana cut your hands off."

Spike shook his head. "About the only time I ever wished I was a ghost again. Haven't even been myself that long yet, and already got Slayers after my parts."

"But you still didn't call me. Or let Angel call me. Or just, you know, lurk under my window like the old days. Why? Was I…that bad to be around?"

Her odd question made him pause. It had never been about her. It had never even occurred to him that she could think that.

Before he had the chance to answer, Buffy closed the space between them, threading her arms around his waist, carefully resting her cheek on his shoulder. Spike lifted his hand, curling it around the base of her skull, and his fingers molded in remembered patterns that made him squeeze his eyes shut to try and hold in the barrage of emotions. "Was never about you," he murmured. "God, Buffy…it was _never_ about you."

Her heat scorched through the thin cotton of the borrowed t-shirt, and her heart thundered until Spike couldn't hear his own thoughts. Maybe it was better that way. His head had a way of fucking him over, making sense where there was none. Her willingness to allow him to hold her, even so platonically, gave him courage to try and offer further explanations.

"How was I s'posed to top the sort of exit I had?" he said. "You saw me as a hero. I didn't…I didn't want to lose that."

That was when she pulled away, though her arms stayed clasped behind his back. "And you didn't think I'd understand that?" That tiny line appeared between her brows, though it looked like it had become deeper in the past six months. "You're not the only one who's died saving the world, Spike. And I didn't have a choice about coming back, either."

"I never thought less of you for it, luv."

"So why did you think I would?"

There were a lot of different ways he could answer that. Spike chose the simplest.

"Because I'm still a vampire, and when it comes down to it, you're the Slayer."

Buffy shook her head. "I'm _a_ Slayer now."

"No." Lifting his hand, Spike swiped his thumb along her jaw. "You'll always be _the_ Slayer to me."

"And you'll never be just a vampire to me," she replied. "One of these days, I wish you'd believe that."

The certainty in her voice reminded him of how badly he'd treated her the night before, his memory buggered notwithstanding. With his guilt substituting as restraint, Spike rested his hands on her shoulders and pushed Buffy away, rising to his feet. Wesley's little magical gizmo lay in shards in his path to the kitchen sink, and he toed the broken pieces of glass that littered the floor, wondering how something so deceptively fragile could be so powerful.

"Only thing I don't like about this business is having my memories of Dawn's all jumbled," he said. "Always knew they weren't real, but I think I like it better not bein' reminded."

He felt Buffy's gaze follow him as he stood in front of the open refrigerator. "I know," she admitted. "I knew it was going to happen, and it still managed to knock me on my ass. Literally."

"Any notion on what was goin' on with Wes and Faith?"

"No. Things have been…weird with them, ever since I got here."

They lapsed into silence as he kept his back to her, pretending to look interested in the contents of his empty fridge. Until he heard her stand up and approach. It took everything he had not to flinch when Buffy rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't want to go. But if this is too hard for you, Spike, if you need time to adjust—"

"Time's not goin' to make a difference. It's still all the same." He shut the refrigerator, probably a little too hard. "You came to me. And I was too bloody scared to go to you."

Buffy shook her head. "I don't believe that."

"Believe what you want. Doesn't change a thing." Getting drunk again was sounding better and better. "Look, if you want to go, don't be looking for me as an excuse. Just go."

"Is that what you want?"

"No. Yes." He threw his hands up in frustration and stomped over to the couch. "I don't bloody know, all right? I never expected you to come."

Before he flopped down, Buffy was already moving, coming to sit on the opposite end. She tucked her legs beneath her and angled to face him. "Well, I'm here now," she said. "And one way or another, we _are_ going to talk about this. But…maybe we should save the hard stuff for later when all this isn't so fresh."

"And do what? Sit here and stare at each other?" Actually, he didn't mind that notion so much. It had the flavor of easier times.

"We can still talk. Like…all this stuff that's going on with Angel, and why someone would want me to think he dusted you. Maybe you can fill me on what's been going on."

Spike nodded. That sounded doable. And safe. "Will you tell me what's been goin' on with you and the Bit?"

When Buffy smiled, it lit her up. And in that moment, Spike thought that maybe, just maybe, everything would be all right.

* * *

Faith called after Wes as she stepped outside of the apartment building. Though he was only a few paces ahead, he didn't look back, didn't even falter from his too-stiff posture. Maybe it was the wind, whistling around their ears, but she doubted it. He seemed oblivious to everything, just like he'd been inside.

With an added burst of speed, she closed the distance and grabbed his arm, jerking him to a halt. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

The driving rain plastered his hair to his skull, dripping down the lines of his jaw. Curling his fingers around hers, Wes peeled her hand away. "Go back inside," he ordered. His tone was flat, but there was something deadly lurking in his eyes. "Make sure Buffy and Spike are all right."

He turned on his heel to continue toward the car, but Faith darted around to block his path. "And let you wander off looking like somebody just kicked your puppy? I don't think so."

"I'm perfectly fine."

"Not if you've got a head full of new memories like I do." His flinch would have escaped notice of someone who didn't know him like she did, but it was all the proof she needed to know the same thing had happened to him. "You remember the kid, too, huh?"

A muscle twitched in his jaw. "Connor," he said softly. "Angel's son."

"You didn't remember him before? I thought…" Her gaze strayed to his neck, which had the unfortunate side effect of prompting Wes to reach and finger the scar. "That doesn't make sense."

"No," he agreed. "It doesn't. It also raises the question…where is Connor now? And how did Angel ever allow something to happen to him after…after everything? Why has he never mentioned him?"

"Obviously, somebody messed with Angel's head, too."

"At the same time he accepted Wolfram & Hart's employment agreement? That seems too…coincidental to me."

Faith could see exactly what direction Wes was going with this line of logic, and a feeling of dread settled in her stomach. "Don't go there," she warned. "Angel didn't have anything to do with this."

"And we won't know that for sure until we speak with him. Step out of my way, Faith."

She lifted her chin. "I can't let you go, Wes. Not with your head like this."

"A rather ironic choice of words for you, don't you think?"

Her arms were growing numb from the cold rain seeping through her clothes, but Faith remained unmoving. "Someone's setting Angel up, remember? You said it yourself. All the shit with Spike ringing a bell? And then there's Lindsey. How do we know he's not the one behind all this?

Mentioning Lindsey sparked a response, even if it wasn't one Faith wanted. "Even more reason to go to the hotel," he said.

She blocked his shove long before he made contact, but it had more force than she intended, sending Wes spiraling into the wall from his own momentum. Faith squelched the instinct to go and help him back to his feet, though she had to ball her hands into fists in order not to do it.

His laugh was harsh, his eyes bright even as he blinked against the driving rain. "Ah yes," he commented, pushing back to his feet. "Faith's response to any situation where she feels out of control. I'd forgotten." He laughed again. "And look, there's that irony again."

The words stung, more so than thinking Angel might even be remotely connected to all their memory problems. "It's not like that," she said. "I'm doing this for your own good."

"Oh, I get it. You couldn't save Robin Wood, so you'll save me instead?"

Her heart stopped. More than anything else, Faith wanted to run, far, far away, never stopping until her legs defeated her and the world was a pale shadow glimmering in the distance. After everything that had transpired between her and Wes over the past twenty-four hours, she'd stupidly believed that maybe she'd actually found someone who'd help her get past it all. She should have known better. She should always know better.

The second she took a step away from him, Wes frowned, as if only realizing what he'd just said. "Faith…I didn't mean—"

"No." She refused to cry. "You _did_ mean it. And you know what? Fuck you, Wes. Go see Angel. Get mad. Say something you're just going to regret later. I don't fucking care any more."

She still had his motorcycle keys in her pocket. Rain or not, Faith was getting out of there, and just maybe this time, she wouldn't come back.

It was his turn to jerk her to a halt. She could have pulled away, she could have done almost anything. But the heat from his hand cut through the cold, and it took her a moment to process the _why the hell did he stop me?_ thought that sprang first to her mind, and then she was turning to look at him, to see the pain mirrored in his clear eyes.

It only took a heartbeat.

They moved together, mouths crashing with teeth and tongues.

For a few precious minutes, Faith didn't feel the rain.

* * *

It didn't take long sitting with Lindsey to remember why it was Angel disliked the man so much. He respected self-preservation as much as the next demon, but the streak in Lindsey was a mile wide. Add in the years of glib responses and doubletalk, and Angel was ready to end the interrogation in a nice bloodbath long before dawn hit.

The only thing of value that he got before Lindsey passed out was the information about the tattoos. It was something to get Wesley to look into to confirm, but on this, Angel was inclined to believe Lindsey's story. He knew from recent experience how persistent the Senior Partners could be. Considering how much Lindsey knew about the firm, he wouldn't want that kind of wild card running around, either. It also explained how Lindsey was able to get into Wolfram & Hart without being detected. Since he claimed to be working alone, it would be the only way to do some of the things Angel suspected him of.

What Angel didn't get answered was why. Why go after him now? Why include Spike in the mess?

And if Lindsey wasn't behind telling Buffy the truth about Spike, who else could it possibly be?

The smell of Lindsey's blood grew too strong for him to take. When he was certain Lindsey was out cold, Angel crept upstairs, aware of the echoing emptiness of the Hyperion around him with every step. He hadn't been back here for months. Now he understood why.

Ghosts haunted every dust-filled corner. Standing in the lobby, Angel's solemn gaze swept over the counter, the faint sound of remembered laughter making the images even worse. There were Fred and Gunn, standing in front of the weapons cabinet, flirting with coy smiles and stolen touches. Through the office door, he saw Wes standing behind the desk, leaning over as he inspected something spread out atop its surface. Connor lounged on the sofa, equal parts teenage insolence and earnest hope.

And there, descending the stairs, was Cordy. Not the Cordy from last year, pregnant and angry and not really his. The Cordelia who looked Angel square in the eye and dared him to back down without saying a word.

Maybe he should have stayed downstairs. He wasn't up to facing her, even in ghost form. Not until he'd done everything he could to bring her back. He owed her that much.

It wouldn't be much longer. If he'd had doubts before about the prudence of using Dana Jameson for his own purposes, he didn't now.

To be continued in Chapter 13: Calling Up a Little Girl with a Bullwhip…


	13. Calling Up a Little Girl with a Bullwhip

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Spike and Buffy had a brief talk and agreed to talk about certain subjects later, while Faith followed Wes out to stop him from going to Angel's, resulting in a kiss in the rain…

_Chapter Thirteen: Calling Up a Little Girl with a Bullwhip_

Though his head was a clamor of competing images, Wes found the fortitude in those stolen seconds to focus on only those that assaulted his immediate senses. Like how Faith tasted of ginger and warm milk, or how heavy her hair was, laden with rain, when he curved his hands around the back of her skull in order to keep her from disappearing. There was the raw scrape of her fingernails where she gripped his biceps, and the definite points of her nipples visible through her soaking shirt that made his cock throb. And there was her sinful mouth, soft and luscious, that he'd only imagined used this way once or twice. Well…perhaps three times.

Faith broke the kiss first. With ragged breaths audible even in the storm, she pulled away to stare up at him, eyes dark and haunted as they searched his. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Wesley knew that this was the point where he should apologize for taking advantage of her weakened condition, but he knew he wouldn't. He wasn't sorry. And she wasn't any weaker than he was.

There was only one thing to say.

"I won't go yet."

His soft concession to her earlier demands that he stay made her shoulders slump from her rigid posture. Skimming her tongue over her bottom lip, Faith nodded and took a step back. It would appear neither of them were going to mention the kiss. Wes was vaguely disappointed that Faith was so willing to move on from it.

"Sorry about shoving you so hard," she said.

He shook his head. "You did what you had to do."

"Yeah, but I didn't have to do it so that you're bouncing off the walls."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "Perhaps not."

For a moment, her gaze flickered to his mouth, and the barrage of sensations returned to him, his taste buds prickling at how her tongue had swept against his, the backs of his hands tingling at the weight of her hair draped over them. He was still hard, and he had little doubt that Faith was well aware of the fact. How it would affect future exchanges between them, though, he had no idea.

"So what's the new plan?" she asked. "We want the 411 on who might've done this, right?"

He was grateful for her prompting, though Wes still harbored suspicions that Angel had to be involved in this somehow. When it came to Connor, Angel's behavior had always been single-minded. The fact that those were the specific memories that had been excised from their awareness was significant; it had to be. He just had to determine why.

"Considering Spike's memory was fine before being removed from Wolfram & Hart," he said, "the logical place to start is there."

"What about Fred and Gunn? You think somebody messed with their heads, too?"

So wrapped up in his own dismay about the tampering, Wes hadn't even considered that the others might be victims of the same foul play. Thoughts of Fred, especially, left him with a pang of melancholy guilt, and he looked away from Faith as he replied, "Most likely, yes. I find it difficult to conceive that they wouldn't mention Connor in all this time otherwise. But they still would be unaware of the loss. The Orlon Window works on people in the immediate vicinity. It would have no effect on them."

"So let's scope out what they know," Faith offered. "I'll check with Gunn, you go talk to Fred. Then we meet up and compare notes."

As far as plans went, it was a good one. What left Wes uncomfortable was facing Fred so soon after kissing Faith. Perhaps he should discuss it with Faith, after all.

Except she was already retreating back to the apartment building.

"We'll give B the car keys," she was saying. "That way she's not stuck in case Spike needs something. And we can dry off a little before getting soaked through on your bike again." Hesitating on the doorstep, she looked back at him with an unmistakable challenge in her eyes. "Think you can handle it for the both of us? Storm might make it a little bumpy."

The words were out without thought.

"I've weathered worse. Let's do it."

* * *

It felt like Buffy was just going through the motions as she and Spike helped Wes and Faith dry off before leaving for Wolfram & Hart offices. Spike seemed especially interested in hearing that it wasn't only his memory that had been tempered with, but the cagy ways Faith and Wes answered his questions worried Buffy. Something was going on, and the fact that they were resorting to returning to the evil lawyers didn't bode well. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask about Angel, but they were gone before she mustered the nerve. It was just as well. She probably wouldn't like the answer anyway.

"Well, that's an interesting twist," Spike commented after the door shut behind the pair.

Buffy frowned. He was regarding the door with a tilt of his head, his mouth slanted in amusement. "What is?"

"The two of them." As she continued to stare at him blankly, he finally moved to return to her side at the couch. "Not sure what prompted them, but those two snogged at least once before comin' back in."

"Wes and Faith?" It probably should have been more surprising than it was, but she'd seen their easy camaraderie for the past twenty-four hours and listened to their mild flirting just that morning over breakfast.

"Maybe this memory wipe told them they'd shagged before or something," Spike said. He snorted. "Didn't think the Watcher had it in him."

Buffy wanted to comment that she didn't think _Faith_ had had it in her, but stopped almost immediately. Faith had even had sex with Xander; a sense of discrimination was as foreign to her as an underwire bra.

The ringing of her cell phone in her purse interrupted her from commenting further. Leaving Spike on the couch, Buffy rose and crossed the room, frowning when she saw the number on the cell. Unidentified caller. She hit the connect button and said, "Hello?"

"Buffy? Thank god. I was beginning to worry something might have happened to you, too."

The unadulterated relief in Gemma Guerrero's voice was mitigated by her words. "What do you mean, _too_?" Buffy asked. The debate on Wes and Faith vanished in light of more real concerns. "What happened? Is Dana all right?"

"She is now. But we had a disturbance here last night that I think you should know about." Gemma took a deep breath. "Angel was here. To see Dana. Unauthorized. We're not sure on the specifics, whether she attacked him first or he attacked her, but she crashed through the observation window and got hurt fighting him. I've had her moved and sedated so that she can get some real rest, but none of the Slayers we sent out to look for Angel have been able to find him." Her voice grew tight. "I'd like to know what the hell he wants with my patient."

Buffy listened with growing dread, her skin turning to ice at the picture Gemma was painting. "How do you know it was Angel?"

"The Slayers sensed a vampire being around, and Dana identified her attacker as him."

"But how do you know it was really him and she wasn't just channeling another Buffy the Vampire Slayer rerun?"

Gemma paused. "That's a possibility, yes," she conceded. "But I'm inclined to believe that he was really here. I've left numerous messages for him with his secretary at Wolfram & Hart already today, and he has yet to get back to me."

Buffy knew why Angel wasn't getting his messages, but considering the anger that was obvious in Dr. Guerrero's voice, she didn't think it was wise to tell her where she might find Angel. That didn't mean Buffy couldn't stop by and talk to him herself, though.

"I'd like for you to come and see Dana this afternoon," Gemma was saying. "She responded well to you yesterday. If we can get her to talk about what happened, we might be able to determine what it was Angel thought he was accomplishing. Without worrying about how to filter through a vampire's testimony."

It was the perfect opportunity to compare stories, Buffy thought. Because there was no way she wasn't going to go get one from Angel first. "I'll be there," she promised, and hung up the phone.

Spike was pulling on his boots. "I'll drive," he announced. Obviously, he'd heard the entire conversation. "You're a menace behind the wheel."

"Are you kidding me?" She stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "You're not going, Spike."

"Why the bloody hell not?"

Buffy couldn't believe she was having this discussion. "Because you just had major surgery? Because the reason you had the major surgery was because the Slayer in question cut off your arms? Because said Slayer just got into _another_ fight last night with Angel? Take your pick, Spike. They're all excellent reasons."

His face grew hard. "So all that talk about me not bein' just another vamp. That was just you tryin' to make me feel better, was it?"

"What does one have to do with the other? I don't want you to go because it's not safe, not because I don't trust you."

"You don't trust me not to hold my own," he countered.

"When you've only _just_ had your hands reattached? Um, no, you got me there."

With a snort of disgust, Spike flounced away, growling under his breath. "You'll never change, Summers. Guess it was daft of me to think you comin' all the way out here actually meant something."

His words stunned her into silence. She was _protecting_ him. Didn't the idiot vampire see that? None of the Slayers at Watts knew anything about Spike; if he encountered even one of them in his condition, Buffy couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't end up dust. And why would he want to see Dana anyway? She cut off his hands. That seemed like reasonable grounds for eternal aversion to Buffy.

"Why?" She blurted out the question that weighed on her mind, drawing Spike to a halt. "Why do you want to go? Is this about Dana? Or something else?"

He seemed a bit taken aback that she was asking. She half-expected more arguing. It was a relief when he didn't.

"For once, this is about me," Spike said. "Not you, not Dru, not even Angel. You found me there, right? In the middle of a bunch of Slayers? Don't tell me you don't think that's just a wee bit odd, pet."

Buffy frowned. She'd had that brief thought the previous night, and Wes had repeated it in his inspirational let-us-do-this-spell speech before he'd dropped the Orlon, but in light of all the other weird stuff going on, she hadn't pursued it. "Whoever put you there didn't want you leaving, either," she said. "There were crosses embedded in the straps that were holding you down. No way that wasn't deliberate."

"Exactly. The way I suss it, there's a reason for all this, and it's sitting there, back at Watts, waiting for me to nose it out."

Spike had a point. As much as she hated to admit it, he really did have a valid reason to go back to Watts. She would do exactly the same thing if she was in his shoes. "You know I'm not going there until this afternoon, right? I need to talk to Angel first."

"We _both_ need to talk to the wanker. It was his watch that saw me disappear, right? I want to know what's goin' on down at those offices."

Fair enough, she thought. Plus, it would give her the opportunity to see the two vampires interact. If she could see how they were around each other, it would help in trying to figure out whose side Angel really was on.

In spite of her fears back at Wolfram & Hart, she really hoped Wes had been right. She didn't want Angel as an enemy.

They all had enough of those as it was.

* * *

Eve walked through the hallways of Wolfram & Hart with her head high. She smiled at people who passed, stopped and flirted with the cute new guy in Acquisitions, even stopped into the lab to say hello to Fred, though that was more of a double-check to make sure that Armando hadn't screwed up and actually sent the security footage than any kind of good will. He hadn't, thank god. One less thing for her to worry about. If they discovered that the video had been tampered with as well, it would only bind them all even closer together. The Senior Partners would be very unhappy if that ended up happening.

Just to be safe, though, she made arrangements for Knox and Fred to get embroiled in a project off-site. She had to keep Fred and Wes apart until the seeds of mistrust had fully been sown. After they learned of the mind wipe, that would be moot. Until the wedge had been firmly driven between Angel and his most trusted supporters, however, Eve had to keep them precariously balanced.

In spite of her calm outward demeanor, Eve's stomach was in turmoil. Lindsey had never returned, and she was starting to fear that something might have happened to him. As far as she'd been able to determine, he hadn't come back to Wolfram & Hart, which meant he'd probably gone out in search of Spike himself. There was no way he'd found him at Watts, she was certain. And she had yet to see Lilah to find out if one of the Slayers had found Spike yet, either. Eve felt like she was barely treading water, trying to keep her head afloat in an ocean filled with circling sharks. Lilah. The Senior Partners. Lindsey. If he found out she'd been working with the Senior Partners all along, she knew there would be hell to pay. Lilah might think he was a dumb hick who got a lucky break, but Eve had spent enough time with him to know the truth.

If he was cornered, he would attack. It was what he did.

She was on her way to do her morning check on Cordelia's status when her phone rang. With hope that it was Lindsey, she stopped and pulled it out, her smile fading when she saw it was only front reception. It disappeared completely when she answered it and discovered that Wes had returned to Wolfram & Hart with Faith Lehane in tow. She thanked the receptionist politely and hung up, mulling over what to do now.

Faith was a wild card nobody had anticipated. Sending the laptop to Buffy had been about turning her against Angel, finding out the truth about Spike's return in the most painful way possible so that she and all her resources would be permanently removed from Angel's reach. She wasn't supposed to bring somebody along who would prove to be Angel's staunchest supporter. Someone who would be there to pull Wesley out of the fire when the need arose. And certainly Lilah never anticipated him having help at his beck and call.

Eve's smile began to return. Lilah had been on her back since the beginning, telling her where she was going wrong with Lindsey, nagging her about every little detail. It made Eve want to shove it back in her face that Lilah was just an attorney with Wolfram & Hart; Eve had a direct line to the Senior Partners herself. If anything, Lilah should have been taking orders from her.

Maybe it was time Lilah got a little more hands-on in the process.

She opened her phone again and hit the number she wanted. "I thought you'd like to know Wesley decided to come into work this morning," she said before Lilah could even speak. "And I can't keep an eye on him today. The Senior Partners have me hopping. I was wondering if you would—"

Lilah sighed. "You know I will. We can't afford to let him slip through the cracks. You know that."

"And here I thought you'd appreciate the chance to get to see him personally."

"I'd appreciate you doing your job for a change."

The line went dead. It didn't even bother Eve that Lilah was so bitchy about it. Imagining the look on her face when she saw Wesley with Faith was worth every second.

* * *

They got to the Hyperion just in time. The rain stopped a few blocks away, and as Spike pulled Wesley's car up in front of the looming building, the clouds started to part, allowing the sun to peek through the gloom. Spike ducked down as far as he could go while Buffy rummaged around in the trunk for something to cover him with. She wasn't surprised to see how well Wesley had his car stocked. The guy looked like he was prepared for any contingency. Good for them.

As soon as they rushed into the lobby of the hotel, though, Spike jerked to a halt. Frowning, he sniffed the air. "Somebody's bleedin'," he said.

Buffy nodded. "Probably that Lindsey. Wes said he had to shoot him to stop him from running away. They brought him here for Angel to question."

Her explanation didn't wipe away his frown. "Who's Lindsey?"

"Some lawyer that hates Angel. Supposedly, he left town, but now he's back, digging around in all the Dana stuff. Wes said they found him on his way to see you last night."

Spike shook his head. "Only visitor I had last night was you. Oh, and Doyle."

She remembered Wesley's explanations, how Lindsey had admitted to going and seeing Spike. And one more part of the puzzle came a little bit clearer.

"Let's go see Angel," she said simply. Better to keep her mouth shut about what she suspected. If she was right, Spike would know soon enough anyway.

His frown grew more pronounced the closer they got to the basement door. By the time they reached the stairs, his jaw was locked and his eyes were flashing. "That blood's fresh," he muttered before taking the stairs two at a time.

Buffy hurried after. The sound of their feet echoed in her ears.

The basement was cool and dark, but the scents that Spike had detected upstairs clogged the air, even for Buffy's nose. She blinked more than once, trying to adjust to the dim lighting, but she didn't need to see clearly to know that Spike leapt forward before hitting the bottom step.

"What the hell…?" he muttered. The sound of heavy clanging followed.

By the time she was at his side, Buffy could see what had captured his attention, though she wasn't sure knowing was better.

Inside a solidly built cage, a man was curled on his side on the concrete floor. Dark hair fell across his bruised face, his lower lip swollen and split, and his hands were ragged and bloodied where they rested lax. One of his pants legs had been torn away, but Buffy didn't need to see the seeping gunshot wound to know who it was.

It was Lindsey.

"What happened to him?" Buffy murmured. This wasn't from his encounter with Wesley and Faith. That had been the previous night. These injuries were fresh.

Spike gripped the bars, heedless of any residual pain in his hands. His mouth was curled into a snarl. Buffy couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him look so furious.

He uttered a single word.

"Angel…"

To be continued in Chapter 14: Every Man Has Certain Needs…


	14. Every Man Has Certain Needs

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Wes and Faith agreed to go to Wolfram & Hart to try and determine the extent of the memory wipe, while Buffy got a call from Gemma detailing what had happened with Dana, resulting in Buffy and Spike going to the hotel to confront Angel only to find a beaten and unconscious Lindsey…

_Chapter Fourteen: Every Man Has Certain Needs_

He should have been suspicious when he realized the old man's scent was all over the bleedin' hotel. But Buffy had been so sure, and her claims about what was going on with this Lindsey fellow so genuine…Spike _wanted _to believe in the best, for her sake if not any other reason.

But seeing Doyle lying there in a puddle of his own blood, his face nearly unrecognizable, his hands wrecked from trying to fight back, was too much. Angel had gone too far this time. And all Spike wanted was to find the wanker and show him that their fight over the Mountain Dew was nothing compared to what he was going to do this time.

He pulled at the bars, trying to rip the door from the hinges in order to get in and get to Doyle. They were strong, barely yielding within his grip, and within a minute, he snarled in frustration.

"Help me with this," he shot back to Buffy.

She didn't move. "What are you doing?"

It seemed like one of the dumber questions to come out of her mouth recently. "I'm gettin' Doyle outta here before Angel comes back to finish what he started."

"That's not who you think it is." She took a deep breath. "Look, Spike, whoever you know that guy as, he's been lying to you. His name is Lindsey McDonald. He used to be a lawyer at Wolfram & Hart. According to Wes and Faith, he's had a beef with Angel for years."

She launched into some story about how she'd encountered him at Watts, how he'd batted Faith away like a fly, and how it had taken Wes shooting him in order to take him down and bring him in so that they could find out what it was he might be doing. The more Buffy spoke, the deeper Spike's frown became, but when she finished, he still shook his head in disagreement.

"I don't care what he calls himself," he said. "And I don't care that he's got a history with Angel. Hell, considering how many people Angel's brassed off over the years, I'm surprised there aren't more crawling out of the woodwork wanting to Bronson his ass. But that doesn't change the fact that Doyle—" He stopped, grimacing before correcting himself. The nancyboy name didn't suit the man who'd wormed his way into Spike's life. "—_Lindsey_ is the reason I've got all my bits back. Whatever his beef, it was still his doin' that changed me from a ghost back to myself again. That deserves something."

"He's dangerous," she protested. "And unpredictable."

"In case you haven't noticed, pet, so's Angel."

Stepping forward, Buffy laid a hand over his on the bar. "Look," she said, and he knew in that instant she wasn't going to budge. "I get you feel you owe him, but until we know what he's planning with all this – you, Dana – I'm not comfortable having him anywhere I can't ensure he's not going to escape until we talk to him. Can _you_ think of someplace other than here that'll work?"

Spike pressed his lips together. Buffy had a point, albeit a small one. Before the events with Dana, he would've suggested tapping into Angel's resources at Wolfram & Hart. He didn't trust the company, but that didn't mean he wouldn't use them any way he could. They could always take him back to his place and tie him to a chair, taking turns guarding him, but that was less humane than Spike wanted. In Lindsey's condition, he needed medical attention and time to recover. And the only other place with the manpower, or girlpower in this case, to ensure him not escaping was Watts. Spike knew _that_ idea was even less favorable than the evil law firm.

"I'm not just leaving him like this," he argued. "He needs a doc."

Buffy nodded and stepped back. "I'll see what I can do."

Spike watched as she retreated to the top of the stairs with her cell phone, but as soon as she began talking, he looked back to the man in the cage. Buffy's logic about not letting him out of their sight was good, but it didn't stop the twinge of guilt at treating Lindsey without a little more respect. Sure, he got on Spike's nerves often enough, and the way he kept popping in and out was annoying. But he'd given Spike something nobody else had in a very long time.

A chance for a life of his own.

That counted. More than Buffy would ever understand. And if he was the one who had to sit guard so that Angel didn't lay another hand on the bloke, so be it.

Lindsey still hadn't moved when Buffy returned. "I called Dr. Guerrero over at Watts," she said. "That's Dana's doctor. She's going to come over and take a look at our lawyer here."

Spike frowned. "That's a _shrink_," he said slowly.

"She's still an MD. I was only going to ask her for a recommendation on somebody we could trust, but then she said Dana was still out cold so she could help us if we wanted. I know it's not ideal, Spike, but the only other doctors I know are the ones at Wolfram & Hart, and I don't think any of us want them around here."

He had to begrudgingly concede on that. The way Buffy had been talking about the doctor, too, showed more than a little trust for the other woman. It would have to do.

"I called Wes, too," she went on. "To tell him what's going on. They've still got some checking in at the office to do, but they're going to meet us here this afternoon to talk about everything. I figured we could use the time until Dr. Guerrero gets here to look for a spare key. I'd _really_ rather not break the bars if we don't have to."

As usual, Buffy had everything under control. Spike made noises of consent to the plans, but as he turned back to the cage, a small voice in the back of his head demanded for equal say. He resisted the temptation to give it its lead, though. There would be time enough later, when the dust had settled a little, for them to have a heart-to-heart. Even if Buffy might want him back in her life in some small way, Spike wasn't sure he could go back to the way things used to be.

The other thing Lindsey had given him these past few weeks was a bit of self-respect. After everything he had done – for Buffy, for himself – Spike thought it just might be time to start demanding some of that respect from others.

Starting with the Slayer.

* * *

It was weird being back at Wolfram & Hart. Going with Buffy to see Spike hadn't really counted, since they'd bypassed the offices and headed straight for the infirmary. But today, Wes had led Faith through corridors that brought back vivid memories of her first meetings here, and she had to shove her hands into her pockets and bite the inside of her cheek to keep from turning on her heel and running out.

Gunn, at least, didn't give off the same vibe as the others she passed, even if she thought he looked hotter in his jeans and tees than the suit he was trying to pose in these days. He'd been appropriately flirtatious and friendly, making the right noises about what had been going on with Spike and Angel, but when it came time to start taking trips down memory lane, he went right around the corner from Connor, making it clear he had no idea who the kid was no matter what angle she tried.

Faith had little doubt Wes was going to get the same response from Fred.

She found Wes waiting for her outside Gunn's office. The trip from Spike's had left him disheveled when they'd arrived, but it looked like he'd cleaned up even more than he had before leaving. His hair was freshly combed, and the dark turtleneck he wore sharp and dry. A brief stab went through her at the realization that he'd done this for Fred's benefit. She shouldn't have been surprised. Fantastic kiss or not, Faith knew that Wes probably thought of it as a huge mistake. She wasn't anything to him, not really. Except a reminder of his failures.

"What happened to meeting up at the lab?" she asked, keeping her tone casual.

"Fred's not in. I thought we'd go down to the Records Department and look at Angel's original employment contract. I'd like to see if there's anything untoward that we should be aware of."

She fell into step with him, doing her best to match his long strides. "You think we're going to have time to find me a place to crash after we're done here? The way I figure it, now that Spike's got his memory back, B will probably hook up with him. And the third wheel gig's not really my style."

They came to a stop at the elevator, but when she looked up to meet Wesley's gaze, he was frowning. "I thought you'd be staying with me," he said.

Faith shrugged. "You don't want me gettin' in your way."

"Did I say that?"

"No, but—"

The doors slid open, and Faith used it as an excuse to break away from his intense gaze and step inside. She stood in the farthest corner, leaning against the mirrored wall, as Wes followed her in and pressed the button for one of the sub-basements. As soon as the elevator started moving, he turned to face her.

"I still have to treat that bite of yours," he said.

"You don't need my ass around to look at a few books."

"Is this…" He stopped, his mouth pressing into a thin line as he contemplated his words. "If this is about what happened in front of Spike's," he tried instead, "we should talk about it, Faith."

She grimaced. _Talking about it_ was code for _huge mistake_. It shouldn't have surprised her. She'd seen how nutso he was for Fred the previous spring.

"Look, you wanna forget about it, I'm cool with that. These things happen."

"That's not what I said. Why are you insisting on putting words in my mouth?"

"Because you sure as hell aren't doing it. 'What happened.'" She snorted and shook her head. "We got a little hot under the collar, we kissed, end of story. Been around the block a few times, remember. I'm not some prom queen who thinks locking lips once actually means something."

The elevator came to a stop, the doors opening into a dark, deserted corridor. Faith sauntered past, scanning the walls for some indication about which direction to head in, but before she moved another step, Wesley's hands came down on her shoulders. They forced her to turn around, and Wes pushed her into the opposite wall, the heat of his lean body seeping into hers.

"And if it happens twice?"

Her eyes widened the fraction of a second before his mouth descended to hers. Where their kiss in the rain had been hard and hungry, this was deliberate, a slower search as he pressed past her parted lips to coax her tongue to join in. Faith had every intention of pushing him away, to show him she didn't need a little bit of attention to fall into line, but the warmth of his mouth and the certainty of his growing desire drew a moan from the back of her throat. She tilted her head back, fisting the front of his shirt to pull him even closer, and lost herself in the kiss.

When they parted, they were both panting. Wes gazed down at her with eyes gone dark, and he smoothed his hands down her arms before finally stepping back. "I'd like for you to stay with me," he said. "The choice is yours, of course, but I'm unsure how to make it clearer to you that your company is more than welcome."

Faith could think of a few ways, but she resisted the urge to glance down to see if his erection was as visible as it was tangible. "I guess someone's gotta keep you from going off half-cocked," she commented. Her mouth twisted into a grin; this time she couldn't resist. "Though getting the full-cocked version would probably be worth it."

It took a moment, but Wes returned her smile with a small chuckle accompanying it. "We'll know better after we meet with Buffy and Spike," he said. He began walking down the hall, keeping his strides short until Faith fell into step at his side. "She called while I was waiting for you to get done with Gunn. Apparently, Spike has issues with Angel's interrogation techniques."

"Did she say whether Spike's head is clear again?"  
Sobering, Wes nodded. "And once we've taken a look at Angel's contract, we'll have a better idea at how extensive the memory alterations were to the rest of us regarding Connor." They reached a closed door designated as the entrance to the Records Department, and he hesitated with his hand on the knob. "You've been a tremendous help to me, Faith. Thank you."

Gratitude made her itchy, especially coming from Wes. "Just don't want to see Angel get a bum rap if he doesn't deserve it," she said. She grinned. "Make it up to me by letting me have another ride on your wheels. As soon as the rain clears, maybe we can take her out and really open her up."

His smile slowly returned. "I think I'd like that."

He held the door open for her to enter first. When she walked past and his hand settled at the small of her back, Faith almost hesitated. It didn't move from its new position as he guided her to the desk and the woman sitting there, either.

By the time they reached it, Faith decided she kind of liked it.

* * *

From the end of the dark corridor, Lilah watched Wes and Faith disappear into the records department. On the one hand, this was a good development. Wesley knew of the mind wipe and was investigating further. It was only a matter of time before he found the small print on the contract that detailed that particular requirement in taking the job at Wolfram & Hart.

On the other hand, Faith Lehane was mitigating all of Lilah's hard work. For some inexplicable reason, Wes was trusting the little tramp, enlisting her aid and…other amenities. She had the power of persuasion on her side, and it was obvious – to Lilah, at least – that she was doing everything she could to keep Wes from turning against Angel.

That wouldn't work. The Senior Partners needed Angel alone and desperate, with no choice but to take their offer. It was Lilah's job to ensure that happened. Well, technically it was hers and Eve's, but so far, all Eve had managed to do was keep Lindsey pointed in the general direction of mayhem, though even that seemed to be failing at the moment.

Lilah didn't dare leave the Faith problem in her hands. Faith would be running for fucking president by the time Eve got done with it.

As she turned on her new Manolo heel, she pulled out her phone and punched in one of the old tried and true's. "I want everything we have on Faith Lehane," she said before the other end even offered a greeting. "In my private office in one hour, or you'll be eating your own entrails for lunch." She had almost disconnected before she added, "And don't tell Eve. Let her figure it out on her own."

She snapped the phone shut and slipped it into her blazer pocket. Now if she could only scrub her brain clean of the image of Wes kissing the Slayer, everything would be perfect.

* * *

Gemma double-checked the address she had scribbled down. If Buffy hadn't told her the name of the hotel, she would've thought she'd screwed up somehow, but everything seemed to match up. The Hyperion. And there was the car Buffy had said would be parked out front. With a sigh, Gemma killed the engine of her tiny Honda and grabbed the med kit from the passenger seat.

Before she reached the front door, it opened to show Buffy on the other side. "That was quick," Buffy said, holding it wider for her to enter.

"Dana hasn't budged since we sedated her," Gemma explained. "And this sounded pretty important."

She tried not to stare at the dusty lobby as Buffy led her through it. There were about a million questions she wanted to ask, but until she knew more about what was going on, she was holding her tongue. She liked Buffy, and by all indication, it looked like she might be a valuable ally, but until Gemma knew for sure, she had to play her cards close to the vest.

When Buffy opened a door to reveal stairs descending to a lower level, she finally broke. "I thought you said somebody was hurt," Gemma said.

Buffy stopped on the topmost stair. "He's in the basement. In a cage."

Gemma blinked. "A cage?"

"He got put there so that he could get interrogated. He wasn't exactly a…willing participant."

Following Buffy down, the first thing Gemma saw was an angular man slouched in a chair at the door of a barred cell. His hair was a shocking white, and though the blue eyes that regarded her were shrewd, a flicker of compassion softened the sternness of his gaze. She was almost ready to greet him first when the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

Vampire.

Gemma had to fight not to flinch.

"This is Spike," Buffy said, unaware of Gemma's discomfort. "He's…a friend. Spike, this is Dr. Guerrero."

His head dipped, though he didn't rise from the chair. "Heard you're doin' something for Dana. Good on you."

There wasn't time to do anything more than nod before Buffy was stepping forward to unlock the cage door. "It looks like Lindsey's been beat pretty badly," she said, stepping out of Gemma's way so that she could enter. The first thing Gemma saw was the bullet wound in the man's leg, and her sharp intake of breath prompted Buffy to add, "Oh, and he got shot."

Gemma dropped to the man's side, easing him onto his back. Her eyes widened when she recognized her intruder from the previous night, though he was definitely a little worse for her. Pressing her fingers to his wrist, she was relieved to feel his steady pulse, but the rest of it made her see red.

"If this is how you work," she snapped, "maybe we need to re-evaluate your sessions with Dana."

"This wasn't me," Buffy argued. "And for your information, I caught this guy trying to get information on Dana yesterday. Whatever he wants, it's not good."

"If you didn't do it, then who did?"

She caught the glance exchanged between Buffy and Spike before the Slayer answered. "It was kind of a group effort," Buffy said carefully. "But I think Angel—"

"Angel?" Gemma didn't need to hear any more. Turning back to the man, she pushed up her sleeves in order to get to work. "Get me clean rags and boiled water. Now." When neither blond moved, she glanced back, her eyes flashing. "Is _now_ that difficult a concept? You're the one who wanted the help, if I remember correctly."

That did the trick. Spike rose from his chair and followed Buffy up the stairs, leaving Gemma alone with her patient. Lindsey, Buffy had called him. Someone Angel saw as an enemy.

"The enemy of my enemy…" she muttered as she ripped open his shirt in order to look for more injuries.

Maybe she didn't know what his agenda had been, but coming to the Hyperion had definitely served its purpose. She'd learned that Buffy Summers was obviously partial to Angel, and this Lindsey wasn't.

When it came to finding allies, Gemma knew exactly where she could go now.

She felt his muscles tense the second before he groaned. She turned her head in time to meet his bloodshot gaze. When Lindsey frowned, grimacing in pain at the same time, she smiled.

"Looks like you need a friend," Gemma said. "Guess what? You just might have one."

To be continued in Chapter 15: There Are No Saints in This Land…


	15. There Are No Saints in This Land

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Wes and Faith went to Records to look at Angel's contract where Wes kissed her again, and Buffy and Spike brought in Gemma to look over Lindsey's injuries…

_Chapter Fifteen: There Are No Saints in This Land_

There were parts of Lindsey that hurt that he hadn't even realized he had. Some of it was to be expected; the fact that he could barely open his eyes for how swollen they were, for starters. But the aches that went bone deep – the tightness in his chest that made breathing not so fun, the way his shoulders didn't want to cooperate and lift his arms – those were reminiscent of beatings from a long time ago, when a scrawny, too-smart-for-his-own-good kid hadn't yet learned when it was best to shut up if he wasn't prepared to take the consequences.

He should have expected this from Angel. After all, this was the same vampire who'd locked a room full of humans in with two of most dangerous members of the Aurelius clan. Lindsey had made this personal. Frankly, he was surprised he was still alive.

Not quite as surprised as waking up to find himself gazing up into the face of the enigmatic Dr. Guerrero, though. Or to hear her make the very odd offer of friendship.

Though it hurt to move his jaw, Lindsey darted his tongue to moisten his dry lips. "Now how does a pretty thing like you get messed up with a demon like Angel?" he joked.

Mention of Angel's name brought a cold glint to Gemma's eyes. "She doesn't. She gets a call from Buffy Summers asking for help and walks in on more than she expected. You're in pretty bad shape, Mr. McDonald."

So she knew who he was now. And Buffy was stepping in to help. Interesting.

"If you want to be my friend, you'll call me Lindsey." He paused, deciding to take a gamble. "Never had a Slayer on my side before."

She didn't blink. "What makes you think you have one now?"

"Am I wrong?"

"I think you've been beaten to an inch of your life by a volatile vampire." She finally looked away, her hands fluttering over his leg. The sharp stab of pain through the muscle reminded him of the scene with Wesley the night before, and he gritted his teeth against the fresh ache. "Do I want to know what you did to piss him off?"

She was neatly sidestepping his questions, but that only convinced him more that he was right. "I'm alive," he said, regarding her profile thoughtfully. "For Angel, that's enough."

"That's what I've heard," she muttered. "But seriously, Mr. McDonald—"

"Lindsey."

"—if you don't want to end up dead next time, your best bet is to be straight up with me."

"Who says there'll even be a next time?"

Gemma paused, her bloody fingers hovering above his hurt leg. "You're locked in a cage in the basement of a hotel with his ex-girlfriend and another vampire as your bodyguards, and you have a bullet in your leg. Pardon me for being a little skeptical about your odds of getting out of here without my help."

Though he didn't let it show, Lindsey knew she was right. He couldn't even stand up right now. The only thing he had going for him was the fact that at least he didn't have to worry about the Senior Partners finding him any time soon.

And apparently, Gemma Guerrero was on his side.

"Honesty is a two-way street," he said. "You expect it from me, I'll expect no less from you."

Her smile was returning. "Does that mean you'll tell me what you were doing in my office last night?"

"Are you going to confirm for me whether or not you're a Slayer?" he replied.

She laughed, a rich, throaty sound. "Let's get you patched up first," she said.

In spite of how much it hurt, Lindsey chuckled with her. Gemma might not have the same resources Eve did, but as long as one didn't find out about the other, there was no reason he couldn't use them both. All that mattered was that Angel got his due in the end. And one way or another, Lindsey was going to make it happen.

* * *

They worked in silence, searching the kitchen, musty from disuse, for the supplies the doctor needed. Spike kept waiting for Buffy to talk – about anything, really – but she seemed lost in thought, focusing on the opening and closing of cupboards with a distant look in her eye. It didn't take long to reach the point where Spike couldn't stand the quiet any more, and he grabbed the edge of a door to get her attention.

"What're you planning?" he asked.

Buffy frowned. "Who says I'm planning anything?"

"I can see you thinking. And you haven't said boo since we left the doc downstairs. Considering how much you wanted to talk just a few hours ago, that means only one thing."

Exhaling long and slow, Buffy let go of the cupboard and turned around, leaning back against the counter. "Yeah, it means I'm tired of the vampires I always thought I knew best being the most unpredictable things in my life right now."

For all her supposed "understanding" back at his flat, Spike knew this was the real Buffy finally making an appearance. She was angry at him, at Angel, at all the things that were running rampant in her life, things she couldn't control. With a broken body down below and a broken Slayer on the other side of town, the dam was breaking around her emotions. Spike had to be prepared for getting in her way.

"Angel's still bein' predictable," he said, trying to shift the focus away from him. "It's just you've never bothered believing he could do rubbish like this before now."

"Even if that's true, that still leaves you making with the random choices. I almost think you came out of that amulet with a magic eight ball around your neck that's telling you what to do. 'Gee, will Buffy be happy to know I'm alive again?'" She pretended to shake an imaginary ball and turned it over in her hands as if to read the answer. "'Outlook not so good.'"

Shutting the cupboard door, Spike turned away and began rummaging around elsewhere in the kitchen, unable to meet the accusation in her eyes. "Bein' unpredictable is what's had me kickin' all these years," he said. "Kept you on your toes, didn't it?"

Behind him, Buffy sighed. "You know, Spike, I hate to break it to you, but before this whole resurrection thing, the only one who thought you weren't the easiest person to size up was you. You're only a legend in your own mind. And a few Watchers' journals." She paused. "And maybe Dawn's diary."

She wasn't going to pull any of her punches, that was for sure. It was one of the things he both loved and hated about Buffy. Too bad he was so out of practice in dealing with it.

Forgetting about the real reason they were in the kitchen, Spike whirled on his heel and stalked back to face Buffy head-on. She didn't flinch as he entered her personal space, simply lifting her steady gaze to wait for what he had to say.

"And yet, you're here. And you're not leaving. Maybe I didn't let you know I was back 'cause I knew it wouldn't take much for you to be at the end of your wick with me. And maybe I'm done bein' your whipping vamp, pet." He jabbed a finger at the door that led to the basement. "You wanna know why I don't bloody care why Doyle—"

"Lindsey."

Spike growled. "Whatever his name is. He can hate on Angel all he wants. He can go pokin' his nose into Slayer business. He can even slap Faith around a bit; hell knows she's begging for it half the time. But I'm still goin' to do what I can for him, make sure he gets back on his feet, because _he's_ been the one responsible for helping me get back a little bit of my pride since this ghost nonsense."

"Because you never gave me the chance," Buffy shot back. "You stayed here, and you didn't trust me to remember everything we went through together last year. If you'd called—"

"—I'd've come runnin'," Spike finished. "You know that. I know that. I only dusted in the Hellmouth, I didn't lose how much I love you."

"But you still didn't call."

Her voice had gone quiet, though her eyes were flashing. With a frustrated sweep of his hand through his hair, Spike stepped back and began pacing. "Told you why that was," he said. "And I can keep tellin' you, but it's never goin' to be enough, that's bloody obvious."

"Because it's lame!"

"And it's all I've got!"

His fist shot out and slammed into one of the cupboards, smashing through the wood to splinter around his hand and arm. He felt rather than saw Buffy start forward, but she stopped after only a couple steps, hovering in the background.

"I don't know what you want," he said, his tone more controlled. The punch had taken the edge off his taut nerves, though he still felt like going out and killing something. And it kept him from lashing out at Buffy, which was the last thing in the world that he wanted. "I'm not the same demon I was in Sunnydale."

"I think that was obvious the second you decided to stay here."

Spike tilted his head to stare at her. Was there recrimination in her words? He couldn't tell. He couldn't tell a lot of things any more. "So why keep on me about this?" he asked. "Why stick around? Why not jet on back across the pond and leave someone else to deal with all of it?"

He could feel the thrumming of her heart burrowing beneath his skin. She might look cool and collected on the outside, but she couldn't hide the truth from him, not where it counted.

"Because no matter what," she said, "no matter if you have a soul, or if you're a ghost, or if you're a chipped pain in my ass, my life has always been better when you were in it, Spike." She grabbed the few items they'd managed to scrounge up and headed for the door, only to pause with her hand on the knob. "If you can't believe that, then I don't know what else to do. Maybe you're right. Maybe I should go back to Rome. It's pretty clear to me that's what you want, and unlike you, _I_ know when to back off where I'm not wanted."

She didn't glance back before disappearing down the stairs. Spike was left standing there, unable to say a word.

* * *

No matter how long Angel stared at them, Spike's records weren't telling him anything different than the day before. There was still the notation that he'd gone in to visit him, and the nurse was still insisting that she had seen him personally. The fact that Buffy had found Spike at Watts proved the records were false, of course, but in spite of Angel's curiosity that maybe something else might jump out at him as being off, it all looked above board. At least he didn't have to worry about Buffy suspecting him of dusting Spike any more. But he would love to know what somebody thought they were doing by dumping in the middle of a huge group of Slayers.

It had been that question that had driven him to the infirmary after cleaning up and resting in his apartment. There were two things at Watts that interested Angel the most – Buffy and Dana. He didn't want Spike around either of them.

"There you are. I've been looking all over for you."

The tensing of his jaw was an automatic reaction to the sound of Harmony's voice, and Angel gritted his teeth without looking up from the file. "What do you want, Harmony?"

"Do you have any idea how many messages I have for you?" She appeared at his elbow, leaning up against the counter and almost pressed into his side. A sheaf of pink slips of paper were slid in front of him. "Everyone and their brother is looking for you, and the way you keep disappearing is _so_ not helping me."

He sighed. "Far be it for me to make your job more difficult. Can't this wait?"

"Only if you want this stack to double by tomorrow." She leaned in, her blonde hair spilling over the file, blocking his view. "What're you looking at? Is that Spike's? Did you find him yet?"

The last thing Angel needed was more rumors flying around the office. Until they figured out what had happened to Spike, the less said, the better. "No," he lied. Hopefully, Harmony wouldn't be resourceful enough to consider checking out Spike's apartment. "I've got Wes working on it." In hopes of distracting her away from the topic, Angel picked up the stack of messages and began thumbing through them. "Anything in here that's pressing?"

Harmony shrugged. "Eve's starting to get a little annoyed that you're never around," she said. "And I've been able to reschedule most of your appointments that you missed. Oh, but there's this one…" She flipped through the top of the slips until she reached what she wanted, pulling out three from the middle so that they were now on top. "Dr. Guerrero. She said she was from the Watts Institute and needed to talk to you as soon as possible regarding Dana Jameson. She was _really_ insistent. I mean, bitchy insistent. She accused me of trying to hide you from her, and when I said I didn't even know where you were, she called me incompetent and then hung up. Can you believe it? Just because someone has a few letters after their name…"

As Harmony droned on, Angel tuned her out, too caught up in the knowledge that Dana's doctor was asking for him. He supposed it could be possible that she just had questions about what had happened prior to her transfer to Watts, but he doubted it. She was being too persistent. And pissed off. She knew he'd been there the night before, which meant he'd been seen.

He couldn't just ignore this. And maybe if he spoke with the doctor directly, he could sell her on having innocent reasons for wanting to see Dana. At the very least, he'd be able to scope out the new arrangements at Watts.

"Clear the rest of my schedule for the day," he said, pocketing the three messages.

"I already did. Are you--?"

Angel was already walking away, heading for the elevator. He'd had brief thoughts about looking at Cordy's file as long as he was here, but with Harmony hanging around, he didn't want to risk questions about why he'd be interested in that when there were so many other things more pressing.

"If I'm not in my office, I'll be reachable on my phone. Screen what you send through, though. You know the list. Oh, and add Buffy or Faith to it." They reached the elevator, and he punched the button to go up. "And Dr. Guerrero."

"What about Eve?"

Just mention of her made the back of Angel's eyes hurt. When she had first brought the deal from the Senior Partners about the trade for Dana and Cordy, Angel had thrown her out of his office. It was exactly the sort of thing he didn't want to get sucked into when he'd joined Wolfram & Hart. He had suspected her of far worse until Lindsey had been exposed, but still, her nagging about when he was going to make a decision, how time was slipping through their fingers, how they'd lose both Cordy and Dana if he didn't act fast, was starting to wear.

The doors slid open. "Tell Eve I'm busy and I'll talk to her tomorrow," he instructed as he stepped inside. He thought for a moment. "Make it an afternoon meeting."

That would give him time to go back and deal with Lindsey, maybe get some more answers about why somebody was messing around with Spike. Living with the pain Angel had left him in might be all it took to get Lindsey to finally break.

* * *

Though his hand wasn't shaking, on the inside, Wesley felt like he'd been caught in a gale storm. It didn't help that Faith's breathing had grown hot and heavy at his elbow, or that he could sense the tension winding in her like a snake preparing to strike. But he couldn't tear his gaze away from the document in his hands. In spite of his suspicions, seeing the black-and-white truth was far worse.

"Tell me that's fake."

Faith's voice was low and rough, coarsened by her fluctuating emotions. It shot straight past his meager defenses, and Wes had to swallow once in order to answer her.

"It's not. That's Angel's signature. I'd recognize it anywhere."

What he didn't recognize was a friend who sold his partners' memories out in favor of…what exactly? Connor's new life. One that Angel valued more highly than trust or honesty, it would seem. Rather than come to his so-called friends and inform them of his problems and potential solution, Angel had made a unilateral decision and played with all of their lives as if they were his to manipulate at his whim.

Again.

"I can't believe it," Faith was muttering. "After all his talk…"

Finally, he found the fortitude to glance at her. Her dark eyes shone from the tumult he knew matched his own feelings. It was hard not to look at her and remember how her soft curves had felt pressed to him, or how she had scratched her nails across his chest when she'd grabbed his shirt to pull him closer, but that physical attraction, while surprising and distracting and oddly exhilarating, was secondary to the betrayal he knew had slammed into her psyche. Faith had been the one person to believe in Angel throughout everything. She had trusted him more than anyone. And now, she had the truth ripping away the fragile foundation she had made for herself.

"I think we've seen enough," he said, though he didn't really believe it. Closing the file, he set it aside in favor of taking Faith by the shoulders and forcing her to look at him. "We knew this was a possibility."

"No, _you_ thought it was. _I_ was the idiot who actually thought Angel was getting shafted." Her harsh laugh chilled him. "You'd think I'd be used to the shaft by now. After all, hard pointy things through the heart are my specialty."

"There's nothing wrong with trusting people, Faith." The words felt odd coming out of his mouth. How could he expect her to listen to him when he couldn't even listen to himself? "Look. Go up to my office. Sit. Relax. Have a drink if you want. I'll get the rest of these files put away, and then I'll come and get you so that we can go talk to Buffy. We need to have a plan."

He thought she was going to argue with him. He fully expected it. Wes didn't know how he'd be able to counter whatever she tried to pull, but he was ready to try.

But she didn't.

"You got the hard stuff?" she asked.

It took a moment for him to realize what she was referring to, but when he did, Wes sighed inwardly in relief. "Bottom drawer on the left side. There's a nearly full bottle of twenty-five-year-old Glenmorangie." He gave her a tight smile. "Try not to drink the whole thing."

With a curt nod, Faith pulled away from his grasp, pushing past him and out toward the elevators without another word. He watched her go, not making a move until he no longer heard her footsteps in the hall.

There was one more item to check before he could bring himself to leave. If Angel was covering something like this up, it was entirely possible there was more.

The Records Secretary looked up as he approached her desk. "There's one more item I need to know if you have any records of," he said.

"Another Wolfram & Hart employee?"

"No. Someone else. We were given background information on her a few days ago, but I'm interested in seeing if there is anything else. Perhaps something regarding her and the Senior Partners."

"And what's her name?"

Wes took a deep breath. "Dana Jameson."

To be continued in Chapter 16: Cut It from the Chase…


	16. Cut It from the Chase

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Gemma suggested she could be Lindsey's friend, though for what in exchange, he has no idea; Buffy and Spike had a fight about his return; Angel found out Gemma was looking for him and decided to arrange a meeting; and Wes sent Faith up to his office to try and relax after they discovered Angel had orchestrated the mind wipe, staying behind to find out if Records had anything on Dana and the Senior Partners…

_Chapter Sixteen: Cut It from the Chase_

Buffy was surprised to hear Lindsey's voice as she descended the stairs, but the distraction was welcome. The fight with Spike left her wanting to hit something, which was never a good thing. There was so much anxiety on both their parts, but nothing either of them said seemed to make matters better. If anything, she thought things were worse now, which was so far from what she wanted that it needed its own time zone. Things had been better when they were both in denial. If she didn't think that going back to that place would ultimately destroy any chance they had, Buffy would gladly be the first to get onboard. The only problem was, she was pretty sure Spike would stick around on the platform. He and Buffy-denial got along as well as he and Angel did.

Gemma looked up from where she was crouched next to Lindsey, holding out her hands for the supplies. "You do know he should've been taken to a hospital, don't you?" she said, her voice stern. "I thought you were better than that, Buffy. I really did."

"Well, to be fair, they did try to take me to Wolfram & Hart last night." Both women were surprised by Lindsey's interjection. The gleam in his eye made Buffy think he already looked a lot better than when she and Spike had first arrived. "But I'm done with them."

"You might've been better off," Spike said from behind Buffy. When she glanced back at him, he didn't even look in her direction, but if it was because he was too focused on Lindsey or because he didn't want to deal with her, she wasn't so sure. "And you know, Doyle, or Lindsey, or whatever the hell your name is, for bein' so done with the suits, you got an interesting way of showing it. Some of those goose chases were right on Angel's heels."

"Someone had to make sure the job was getting done right." Buffy thought this Lindsey had a smooth answer for everything; it was no wonder Spike had been taken in by him. "And I just placed my bets on the best vamp for the job."

Gemma straightened. "If it's all right with our patient, I'd like to move him to Watts," she said. "He needs close attention."

Buffy didn't need a translation dictionary to know that meant _he needs to be where he's not going to get beat up_, but held her tongue. "He was trying to get information on Dana yesterday," she said instead. "I don't want him anywhere near her."

"Somehow, I get the feeling he's not going to be in any shape to do any snooping any time soon."

"I'm the Slayer-in-Charge of Dana's care," Buffy said firmly. "And I say he stays away. Now if you've got a problem with that—"

"I'll watch him." All eyes turned to Spike. "I'll make sure Angel doesn't lay another hand on him, and if he needs anything, I'll see that he gets it."

Gemma still looked unsure about the arrangement, but after a moment, she nodded. "I have to get back to Dana," she said. "If you need anything…" She stopped and shook her head. "You know what? Keep me out of it."

Her tread up the stairs echoed throughout the basement. One glance at Spike and Buffy flew after her.

She caught up to Gemma in the lobby. "I'm coming with you," Buffy said.

The warmth that she'd always seen in the doctor's eyes had fled. "I don't think it's such a good idea for you to see Dana any more."

"I _helped_ her yesterday."

"And then turned around and let a monster nearly kill that man down there. Those are awfully Escher principles you've got there, Buffy. And I'm not entirely certain those are in Dana's best interest."

When she began to walk away again, Buffy grabbed her arm to stop her. "You're not seriously going to keep me from seeing her, too, are you? You were all ready for me to try talking to her again. I got through to her yesterday. I can get through to her again."

"Maybe," Gemma conceded. "But she's my patient. And it's my call. And I'm not letting you see her."

"Because of Lindsey?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "He's not an innocent here. How many times do I have to tell you, we caught him snooping around your office yesterday?"

"Just the once. But look at it from my perspective, Buffy." Carefully, she unpeeled Buffy's hand from her arm, and though Buffy hadn't been using her Slayer strength to hold Gemma in place, it surprised her how strong Gemma's fingers felt. "On the one side, I have a man who showed up and talked to my secretary to try and get me to come and see him, to talk to him about Dana. On the other, I have a vampire who broke into my facility after hours and left my patient cut and bleeding, and then ran away instead of facing the consequences of what he'd done or answering my questions. You're defending the _vampire_. You. A Slayer. I can't be sure you didn't sanction everything Angel did."

Phrased like that, Buffy understood completely why Gemma was being firm on this. But what Gemma didn't know was all the history, and Buffy didn't have time to explain it to her.

"It doesn't matter what you can be sure of," she said. "Don't make me pull rank. I'm going to see Dana, one way or another."

Gemma didn't blink. "Fine. I'll save you the call to London. But I swear to you, the second I think Dana is in any danger from you, or Angel, or anybody else, your Council clout is going to be worth less than the vampire dust on your favorite stake." Turning on her heel, she marched up the stairs that led out of the lobby, only to pause at the front door. "You don't know what you're messing with, Buffy. Dana's not a hobby for you to take a passing fancy to. She's just a girl. A very damaged, fragile girl, who needs to know there are people out there who don't want to see her get hurt any more." She opened the door. "I'll assume you can find your own way to Watts. And make sure you let my staff know you're there. Progress or not, you're not seeing her unsupervised."

With that, Gemma was gone. And Buffy was left wondering what in hell had just happened.

* * *

In spite of the blood and bruises, the man who gazed back at Spike through the bars of the cage more resembled the one he'd been dealing with over the last few weeks than the broken one he'd found lying on the floor on his arrival. Some of the bravado had returned to his eyes, and now Lindsey regarded him in silence, waiting for Spike to speak first.

"So, it's Lindsey, is it?" He straddled the chair he'd sat guard in, ready to resume his post. "Did you think I'd beat you up and steal your lunch money, or some such rubbish?"

"Me and Angel go way back," came the explanation. "I didn't want that to get in the way of our business."

"And all this with the visions and the Powers That Be…more lies, I take it."

Lindsey grinned. "Maybe I stretched the truth a little bit. But that doesn't change the fact that you did some good, Spike. That's what matters, isn't it?"

There had been a time when Spike would've agreed without blinking. It wasn't the path that mattered; it was the final result. But that was before, when he didn't so much care about what his path might do to others. He'd learned that lesson the hard way, and he didn't plan on forgetting it any time soon.

"How much of the rest of it is make-believe? You said you were the one who made me whole again."

"I was. I'm also the one who climbed down to the bottom of the Sunnydale crater to dig you out. Not even Buffy did that for you, Spike. That was all me."

The left-handed jab at Buffy didn't go unnoticed, but when it came to the Slayer, Spike had far more pressing concerns to consider. "That mean you know what the business was with it from the beginning?" he asked. "Angel brought it to town, fully expecting to be the one goin' down the runway with it. And he got it from Wolfram & Hart."

Lindsey nodded. "Another ploy of theirs to try and get him under their control. When you wore it instead, they abandoned that route. So I dug you up myself."

"And you couldn't have magicked me out solid?"

"Do you have any idea how hard that kind of magic is? It took me awhile to figure it out. I don't exactly have all of Wolfram & Hart's resources at my beck and call any more, Spike."

His eyes narrowed. "You knew about Dana, though."

Another grin, this one as wolfish as the one before. "I said I didn't have _all_ of them. There's still a few doors I can sneak through."

At least he had more answers now, even if they didn't shed light on their current situation. It was all so believable, and while Spike knew Lindsey was trained to be convincing, he was inclined to believe him. What did he have to gain by lying at this point? He had to know that Spike was his lone ally in this mess.

"Just answer one thing then," he said. "Why? Why go to all this fuss with me? All it's done is left you a bloody wreck."

Lindsey's smile faded, and his eyes darkened. Leaning back against the wall, he lifted a damaged hand to his face and pushed his sticky hair back. Spike made a mental note to ransack the hotel in search of clean clothes.

"Because Angel isn't even trying any more," he said. "I was never all that interested in his mission, or his destiny, or whatever he was calling it. But he's in bed with Wolfram & Hart now, whether he likes it or not. And as someone who rolled out the other side of that bed, I know how next to impossible it is to do anything but what Wolfram & Hart wants."

Spike didn't say anything. There was more to this; he knew it. He'd just wait Lindsey out to get the rest of it.

It only took a minute.

"And as for why you," Lindsey added, "well, that one's easy. Who else would piss Angel off more to take his place? Tell me how I could resist rubbing you in his face."

There was enough petty jealousy in Lindsey's tone to make it believable. Not that Spike appreciated being the subject of that jealousy, but hadn't he rubbed his place in Buffy's life in Angel's face more than once since coming back? Spike might not respect the emotion, but he sure as bloody hell understood it.

The sound of Buffy's footsteps at the top of the stairs stopped Spike from pursuing the subject. For whatever reason, he didn't want to talk about it in front of her. He wasn't entirely sure she would ever understand his reasons for not wanting to see Lindsey hurt, and while the games Angel was playing were slowly opening her eyes to the other vampire's true nature, Spike knew better than to push the matter for the time being. There was enough going on between them already without adding more fuel to the fire.

Buffy only shot Lindsey a cursory glance before turning to Spike. "I was going to head over to Watts to see Dana," she said, "but I think I'm going to wait until tomorrow. Do you want me to run and get you something to eat?"

The unexpected offer made him soften. "Might not be a bad idea," Spike agreed.

"What about you?"

The second offer was directed at Lindsey, taking both of them by surprise. "You mean I'm not rationed to bread and water?" he commented.

Buffy's mouth thinned. "I might not trust you, but I'm hardly going to let you starve. Burgers okay?"

Behind her back, Spike gave Lindsey a short nod. Better to just agree to her, it said. Thankfully, Lindsey took the hint and soon enough, they were left alone again.

"You two all right?"

Lindsey's careful question didn't say nearly as much as his tone did. Spike regarded him with a tilt of his head. "Didn't know pointing me in the direction of do-gooding made you a card-carrying matchmaker, mate."

His shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. "I just know you two have a history," he said. At Spike's cocked brow, he added, "And I'm wondering who I can count on my side. Buffy doesn't trust me, and from the way I heard it, there was a time when you did whatever you had to to get on her good side. I'm just wondering if I have to start watching my back with you."

"Buffy has good reason not to trust you," Spike replied. "You went nosing around her pet project, and you leveled Faith. Which, by the way…" He pointed a finger at him. "…you and me are goin' to have words about. How many times did you stand ringside while I took a beating? From the way I heard it, you can hold your own and then some. I figure you owe me."

"Well, I did give you your life back. Some might say that makes us even."

In spite of the glib response, Spike grinned. "You don't have to fuss about me goin' turncoat. Promise you'll be honest with me from this point out, and you've got nothin' to worry about."

As Lindsey did, Spike knew he couldn't put much weight into it. He'd always known Lindsey was a slick one, and just because he'd taken a few knocks, didn't mean that disappeared. But Spike's eyes were open now. He knew what he had to look out for. He wouldn't get caught with his pants around his ankles again.

* * *

The file was thick, a noticeable weight tucked beneath Wesley's arm as he rode up the lift to his office. It was surprising what additional records there were on Dana Jameson, too many to waste time perusing in the basement. What was more surprising – though perhaps alarming was a better choice of word – was that none of these had been available to him when they'd done their earlier research on the unstable Slayer. What if they hadn't found the information they'd needed to find her the first time? Even more worrying, was this indication that they weren't as welcome as they'd assumed? How many times had they been sabotaged in their time at Wolfram & Hart? The implications were staggering.

The higher the lift climbed, the darker Wesley's thoughts became. He felt like a pawn in a chess game he hadn't realized was being played. Angel clearly had an agenda, as did Wolfram & Hart. The question remained, though, about how at odds those agendas actually were. Allying so closely with the law firm was the last thing he would have expected from Angel after all their adversarial years.

Of course, Wesley would never have expected Angel to manipulate his friends' memories so cavalierly, either.

He was beginning to wish that he had joined Faith in that drink. Perhaps it wasn't too late.

Faith.

Thinking of her didn't darken his thoughts. It churned them into whirlpools that threatened to suck him down.

The second kiss had taken him as much by surprise as it had Faith. But when she had started talking about finding someplace else to say, an unfamiliar sense of panic had settled in Wesley's gut. It was as much being unwilling to have her beyond his help as it was his desire for her company. It wasn't just attraction. They were working together. Partners in a way that he hadn't experienced in quite some time. She kept him from his worst, as he hoped he was doing the same for her.

He didn't want to lose that. There was potential there to resolve the specters of the past, once and for all.

The doors whispered open, and his heart sped a fraction as he stepped off and headed for his office. And yes, the possibility that a couple kisses might lead to satisfying a more carnal desire was tempting as well.

"I hope you left some for me," he said as he pushed his door open.

Only his empty office answered him.

Frowning, Wesley set down the files on his desk as he looked around. Faith wasn't there. A check of his drawers told him his Glenmorangie hadn't been touched.

She hadn't come back as he'd instructed.

Wes walked out to the floor's receptionist. "I sent a young woman up to my office a little while ago," he said when she looked up. "Dark hair, early twenties. Did you see where she went?"

The receptionist shook her head. "Nobody's been through here all afternoon. The place has been dead." She reached for the phone. "Do you want me to page Security and see if she's still in the building?"

Wes shook his head. The last thing he needed was for Faith to feel cornered by a couple of guards. "I'm sure she'll be along."

It wasn't until he was in his office that another possibility occurred to him. Picking up his phone, he punched in the extension he wanted and waited for Harmony's perky voice to come on the line. "I'm looking for Angel," he said at her greeting.

"You just missed him. He had a whole bunch of messages to return, but if you want, I can patch you through to his cell phone."

Answering her took longer than he thought. His first instinct was to accept the offer, but even as his mouth began to form the word, Wesley hesitated. Talking to Angel at this point would mean either revealing that he'd discovered the truth about the memory alterations, or pretending to be ignorant of all of Angel's machinations. Frankly, he wasn't up to either just yet.

"That won't be necessary," he said. "If you could just let him know that Faith and I will need to speak with him—"

"Oh, Faith's already doing that."

His blood chilled. "Pardon?"

"Yeah, she showed up a couple minutes ago. I sent her down to the parking garage to see if she could catch him."

He didn't even say goodbye. He just hung up the phone and bolted for the lift. She might have held Wesley back when he'd wished to confront Angel, but he'd practically shoved Faith in Angel's direction. With her lowered impulse control, there was no telling what she was going to do.

* * *

His footsteps echoed in the dark parking garage, but Angel was too lost in his thoughts to notice. Maybe it wasn't the smartest move on his part, but going to see Dr. Guerrero in person seemed to him the best way to garner good will. His call back to her had been fruitless, but the way he figured it, if he was there when she returned from whatever emergency had called her out, it might make up a little for not getting back to her sooner. She was clearly concerned about Dana's safety, and if he could allay that enough to gain some space to do what he needed, Angel thought it might make things easier for him in the long run if he chose to accept the Senior Partners' offer.

The biggest risk, of course, was Buffy finding out about the trade. Somehow, he didn't think she'd see it as an equitable deal.

He was almost to the Firebird when Faith stepped out from behind an SUV and blocked his path. She stared at him, unsmiling, her body radiating with tension.

Angel frowned and fought the urge to check his watch. "I didn't expect to see you today," he said.

"No, I'll just bet you didn't."

Something was wrong. Her terse tone was evidence of that, though he didn't sense any fresh injuries on her. If anything, she smelled like…

"Wes." Angel straightened and took a step closer. "Did something happen to Wes? Is he okay?"

Faith's mouth curled into a sneer. "Is he okay?" she repeated. "You son of a bitch."

His last thought before her powerful fist slammed into his jaw, sending him flying back against the SUV, was, _What is it with Slayers wanting a piece of me these days?_

To be continued in Chapter 17: Stroke and Splatter…


	17. Stroke and Splatter

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Lindsey and Spike had a coming clean, Gemma told Buffy off and only reluctantly agreed to let her see Dana, while Faith didn't go to Wesley's office in favor of confronting Angel…

_Chapter Seventeen: Stroke and Splatter_

The windshield shattered from the force of his landing, but Angel rolled off almost immediately, ignoring the ache across his shoulders. Faith was there as his feet hit the concrete, but he caught her roundhouse, grabbing her ankle and throwing her out into the open lane.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he barked. He watched her tuck into a roll before hopping back to her feet, but pure fury still shown in her face. He hadn't seen Faith look this ferocious since that rainy night in the alley. It didn't make him feel any better.

"I trusted you," she spat.

She launched herself forward, but where Angel anticipated her going high, Faith dove low, her shoulder slamming into his groin to push him back into the SUV. The maneuver had both of them curling to separate, though Angel was pretty sure he hurt a lot more than she did. He barely had time to block her subsequent blows, and while he pulled his punches, unwilling to hurt her until he knew what the fuck was going on, she landed enough of her own to make him uncomfortable, all the while muttering under her breath about disloyalty and trust and something he couldn't quite catch.

"Faith!"

Wesley's sharp voice cracked the air, and for the first time since the start of her assault, Faith faltered. Angel shoved her off, dancing back out of the way, and watched as Wes strode toward them, his face grim.

"You want to do this as much as I do," she said, her eyes never leaving Angel.

The fresh scent of her blood was filling his nostrils, and he saw the stain starting to spread over her abdomen. He'd completely forgotten about her injury from the day before.

"And you stopped me," Wes said. His voice never wavered, never rose, not even when he laid a firm hand on her shoulder. He didn't have the strength to hold her back, but for whatever reason, it served to rein Faith in. "And now you've got yourself hurt again. You should have gone to my office as I told you."

"He fucking lied to us!"

"And we'll find out why. In due time."

Though she continued to watch him, their conversation made Angel feel like the odd man out, intimate when it never used to be. There had been a time when she would have spoken to Angel like that, when Wes would have been the outsider, but for whatever reason, this wasn't it.

"Would someone like to tell me what the hell is going on?" Angel demanded.

The eyes Wes turned to him weren't those of his best friend. They were cool and distant, and that, more than anything else, frightened Angel.

"Oddly enough, that was exactly what I was going to ask you earlier," he said. "Before Faith convinced me to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"About what?"

"About whether or not you'd knowingly manipulate the people you've always professed trusting most."

The more Wes said, the more nervous Angel got. He'd feared for awhile how the choice to trade Cordy for a Slayer would go over with the gang, which was part of why he'd refrained from saying anything until he'd made up his mind. It didn't explain why Faith was so upset about it, though. Unless it was the fact that it was a Slayer that was bugging her. And then there was the question of how had they found out in the first place. If Dr. Guerrero knew of his presence at Watts the night before, it was likely she had said something to Buffy. Maybe that was all it took to get Wes asking questions.

"You son of a bitch," Faith muttered. "You think you can just fuck with people's lives like that?"

When she took a step forward, Angel countered back, even though Wesley's hand was firmly on her shoulder. "I haven't even done anything yet," Angel argued. "I've been putting Eve off for days now, because I didn't like the idea of doing that to Dana—"

"Dana?" Wesley's frown shifted from anger to confusion. "What is it you think you're doing, Angel?"

Now Wesley wasn't the only one who was confused. "You're not talking about Dana?" he asked carefully.

"No, though I'm beginning to believe that maybe I should be."

"Save that one for B," Faith spat. "Let's hear him try to justify messing with our heads about Connor first."

The world stopped. It was the last possibility Angel had ever considered. And finally, the betrayal he'd heard in Wesley's voice made sense. Somehow, some way, they had found out the truth. Did that mean Connor knew now, too? Was he going to be in danger again?

"Damn it," Angel muttered. "How did you find out?"

"The spell I used to help Spike clear his memory," Wes explained. "It…cleared whatever block you had put in place."

Hope began to flare again. "Does that mean you two are the only ones who know?"

Wesley's gaze hardened. "If you're asking if Fred and Gunn are still unaware of your deception, then yes. But that doesn't excuse what you've done, Angel. Or explain why."

"It's a long story."

"Then I suggest we get started. And perhaps you should tell us what exactly your business is with Dana at the same time."

The look on Faith's face mirrored Angel's feelings on the matter. She didn't want to talk; she wanted to pummel something. Angel was beginning to wish he could just let her go at it instead of dealing with the truths Wes was going to force him to face.

"Not here," Angel said. "The walls have ears."

"My place then. Faith is still in need of medical attention."

"I'll ride shotgun with Angel." Both men looked to Faith, but she didn't back down from the glare she still leveled at Angel. "One of us has to make sure he actually shows, right?"

It was on the tip of Angel's tongue to protest that they could trust him, when Wesley said, "Don't hit him while he's driving."

His stomach sank. It was going to be a very long afternoon. Facing Dr. Guerrero would have been infinitely easier than trying to explain everything to Wes and Faith.

* * *

The first thing Gemma did upon returning to Watts was check in on Dana. It was why she was in LA, after all. And no disappointment about Buffy Summers or surprise allies in men who liked to break into offices after hours was worth forgetting that.

She frowned when she saw who was waiting for her near Dana's new room. "What do you want, Andrew?" she said without breaking her pace. "I don't have time for any nonsense today."

He jumped from his seat, scuttling after her like a puppy who'd been kicked one too many times. "I thought you'd want a report on what the Slayers have found out about Angel."

Gemma stopped and looked at him for the first time with interest. "What did they find?"

Under her direct gaze, he fidgeted. "Well, nothing, actually, but…"

With a snort of disgust, she turned on her heel and began heading for Dana's room again. "Go away, Andrew," she barked. "You don't want to mess with me today."

To her chagrin, his steps echoed behind hers. "But we found something else," he said quickly. "When we were looking around, trying to figure out where he might have gone or if he might have done something else while he was here."

"If this isn't about Dana—"

"It could be. It's about another vampire."

The word _vampire_ was what brought her to a second halt. Glancing back at Dana's closed door, Gemma took a deep breath before turning to address Andrew again. "You found another vampire?" she asked. She wasn't so sure why she was surprised. Ever since coming to LA, it felt like her whole life was revolving around them.

"We found proof that there was another one in the building," Andrew clarified. "In a room that doesn't get used any more. There were straps with crosses embedded in them on the bed, and the door's lock had been broken. And there was a file."

It took everything she had not to scream in frustration. "Are you telling me that the Watts Institute has vampire patients?" Gemma said, her voice tight. "It's a Council holding. It's supposed to be a _haven_ for Slayers."

"So far, we think it's only the one. But I've got the girls combing the building, looking for more. The file had pages torn out of it, but there was one part that was clear." He leaned forward conspiratorially, pitching his tone lower. "It was a Wolfram & Hart employee."

Her blood ran cold. If she never heard the name of that company again, it would be too soon. "Thank you for letting me know," she said. She gripped her ID card a little tighter. "Let me know if you find anything else."

"I'll just call Buffy—"

"No." The single word came out more harshly than Gemma intended, and she countered Andrew's immediate frown with a small smile. "She has enough to worry about. Don't bother her with this."

She waited until Andrew had walked off before sliding her card through the lock. She only let out the breath she'd been holding when the door closed shut behind her.

It wasn't supposed to be this difficult. When she'd been contacted about taking Dana's case, it had seemed like the perfect opportunity to do what others had failed before her. Angel was on the alert now, and had been for months, but it had been deemed worthwhile for someone in her unique position to attempt to circumvent that. Gemma had leapt at the chance to do some real good for a change. Too much of her life had been spent behind glass, and if her age prevented her from taking full advantage of her new powers, then it was even better that she utilized her intellectual training to achieve the same goals.

Saving Dana was part of that.

Getting Angel under control was another.

Her gaze was weary as she finally shifted her attention to the observation window that overlooked Dana's new room. Dana still slept, her lashes dark against her pale cheeks, but the shallowness of her breaths wasn't typical of restful REM. Neither was the near constant twitching of her hands, strapped at her sides. With a frown, Gemma unlocked the inner door and entered the room, crossing immediately to the bedside in order to check Dana's vitals.

Her heart was racing. Her skin was hot and clammy. But her eyes remained closed.

"What are you dreaming about?" Gemma mused out loud. She shouldn't be dreaming at all, Gemma knew. The sedatives Dana had been given should have knocked her out enough to make that type of thought process impossible. But this was proof she was, which either meant the drugs weren't enough – which Gemma doubted – or that the nightmares were that powerful. Neither possibility made her happy.

Retreating to the observation room again, she looked over Dana's file to doublecheck that her medication had been administered properly. It would have been nice to blame Dana's state on poor nursing, but everything checked out. If she wanted to prevent the dreams from coming back, she was going to have to run the risk of upping the dosage to a dangerous level. She didn't want to do that. She wanted the dreams to go away on their own.

After all, if she couldn't save Dana, what was the point in trying to save any of them?

* * *

Spike intercepted her before she made it halfway down the stairs.

"He's asleep," he said, jerking his head toward the cell in the basement. "And you and me need to talk, Buffy."

Her fingers tightened around the bag of McDonalds she clutched in her hand, but Buffy nodded anyway and turned on her heel to go back upstairs. Frankly, she felt talked out; between Gemma and Dana and Faith and Angel and Spike and everybody else who seemed to want a piece of her, Buffy was missing the days when all she had to do was swing a fist and solve her problems. But she stayed silent until they were sitting in the kitchen and Spike was cradling a mug of warmed blood between his hands.

"If this is going to be more about how Lindsey is your new bestest friend and I'm the insensitive ex who made your life miserable," she said, "just save it. I'm tired, and I don't think I'm up to round two of the Iron Slayer match. Or three. Or whatever number we're on."

His lashes were lowered, dark and thick against his pale cheeks. As much as she wasn't looking forward to whatever it was he had to say, it warmed Buffy in the best way to be able to sit at a table and be able to count his lashes, if she so desired. Regardless of everything else, even if she went back to Rome alone, Spike was alive. In the end, that was all that mattered.

"Was talkin' to Lindsey before he nodded off," Spike said. "And we were talkin' about honesty and all that. And I realized…I wasn't completely honest with you."

It wasn't what she expected. Her hand paused in mid-reach for a fry.

"Part of why I stuck around, the part that makes sense, was what I had here. I was doin' some good here the past few weeks, and yeah, maybe Lindsey picked me because I was the biggest nettle he could find, but in the end, that doesn't change how it made me feel."

He finally looked up, and she caught her breath at how his eyes blazed with sincerity. More than any other time since finding Spike, since getting his memory back, he looked at her like the man who'd looked at her those last few days in Sunnydale. "Now I wouldn't trade a second of the time I spent on the Hellmouth – well…" He smiled. "…maybe a few bein' tied up in Harris' basement, but let's face it, Buffy. That was always your show. And I was good with that. Here, it's different. It's…"

"All about Spike," Buffy finished. Slowly, she picked up a fry and chewed on the end, not really tasting it as she digested this new information. It wasn't even that it was new. Spike had been hinting around at this ever since they'd started talking. Hearing him say it aloud was almost a relief. "I can see why that would be tempting."

"Can you?" He reached out and took her hand. It wasn't until he entwined their fingers that she realized they were the same hands that had burned in the Hellmouth. "I'm tired of fighting, pet. I'm tired of…trying to make explanations that don't take. I don't want to do that any more."

"Me neither."

"Then why do we keep coming back to it?"

Her mouth twitched. "Because we're both stubborn as hell and just as hurt?"

Spike snorted, smiling in kind. "Yeah, that would be the reason, all right."

They sat there, his broad thumb stroking over the back of her hand, both sets of eyes fixed downward to watch the hypnotic movements. There was no resolution here. Buffy didn't know why she'd expected one in the first place. Had any of her relationships ever been so fortunate as to make sense in the end? But it was that last word, that _end_, that her body and senses revolted against. She hadn't come to Los Angeles to find an _end_. She'd come to LA to find a beginning.

"Since we're being honest," she said, her voice soft, "will you answer me one thing?"

"One or a hundred. Just name it, pet."

"Do you really want me to go back to Rome?"

"No." There wasn't even a moment of hesitation. There was, however, nearly a minute before Spike spoke again. "Did you _want_ to go?"

Her answer wasn't quite as quick. That was because she waited to say anything until she'd lifted her head to meet his gaze.

"Not without you," Buffy said.

His smile warmed her as much as his earlier sincerity had. "Then that's a start," Spike murmured.

* * *

The dreams were nothing new. The dreams had always been there, always waited in the dark for her to join them again, always splattered her with pinpricks of pain that helped her remember that she was still alive and that others weren't. The others weren't. None of them, not the ones she loved, not the ones she didn't know, not the ones who refused to leave or shut up or let her forget for a second that they had come first. Not even the ones that she had thought she'd known. Head. Heart.

The hands had come after.

But there was something different about the dreams this time. They were still soaked in scarlet, still left her breathless, still pushed and pulled and tugged and tore until her head spun and her nails were bloody. But this one, this one wanted her to slow down, wanted Dana to stop and look over her shoulder and see what it was that called her. This one screamed in pain, and then whispered in glee, and she couldn't keep her head straight, didn't know which way was up or down or in or out, or whether it was head or heart or hands or all three. Whether it was hers. Whether it was theirs. Whether it was his.

His.

His.

She stopped for him. Because he had come back. With the others, head and heart and then they were gone. But not him. He came back. Even after she'd taken the hands, too, he came back and back and back and she didn't know why, didn't understand. There was an answer there, lurking with him in the shadows, but Dana couldn't see it, and it didn't matter how many times she looked under the rock or over the edge. He kept it hidden, tucked inside like another secret he didn't want to share.

_"I was never here."_

But he'd lied. Or he didn't yet know. It was the same either way.

He was here. Had been here. Would be here again.

Dana didn't understand.

But she would.

Head. Heart. Hands.

Her short nails dug so tightly into her clenched fists that blood stained the fresh sheets of her bed.

To be continued in Chapter 18: This Is Not a Place for Playing Solitaire…


	18. This is Not a Place for Playing Solitair

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy and Spike have reached a truce, Gemma is back at Watts where Dana is still asleep, and Wes has stopped Faith from killing Angel and demanded that Angel tell them what is going on…

_Chapter Eighteen: This Is Not a Place for Playing Solitaire_

Riding next to Angel, knowing what she did, knowing that every flare of his nostrils meant he was aware of the blood seeping from her injury, was one of the hardest things Faith had done since Wes had broken her out of jail. Because each second of silence was a reminder of his betrayal, each second was another twist of the knife that had cut out her trust in him. She had believed in him. He had given her the hope that she could atone. If Angel could fail in such a monumental way, how could Faith even dare to think that she could move past her own crimes?

"For what it's worth…" Angel's voice was low and even, his gaze fixed steadily ahead. "…this was never about hurting any of you."

Her bark of laughter ripped through her chest. Even the sound of it made her ache. "Whatever helps you sleep at night," she muttered, turning her head away from him.

"I mean it, Faith. I did what I thought I had to."

"No, you fucking did what you _wanted_ to, Angel. At least have the balls to own up to it."

His sigh preceded the car's silence once again. The silence was better, she decided. Anything was better than listening to him try and justify his actions.

She was out of the car before he'd killed the engine, heading for Wesley's door as the sound of the motorcycle roared to a halt behind them. She didn't look back even when Wes called after her, and it wasn't until she was leaning against the wall inside that she realized she had curled her hand into a fist against her stomach.

She was still staring at her blood-stained fingers when Wes came rushing up.

"Oh, Faith…" With his characteristic gentleness, he grasped her wrist in one hand while fumbling with his keys with the other, keeping her from aggravating the wound further. Angel's heavy footsteps drew his attention away for a split second, but the approach seemed to give him a firmer resolve, his hand growing surer as he slid the key into the lock.

"Come in, Angel," he said, crossing the threshold. He didn't look back. Faith wondered why he'd issued the invitation in the first place. It wasn't like Angel had ever been uninvited.

Wesley guided her to the bathroom, but then hesitated, as if realizing for the first time that he was going to be leaving Angel alone in the living room if he tended to Faith first. His concerned gaze flickered from her back to Angel. It was all she needed to garner her strength.

"Fuck, it's not like it's nothing none of us hasn't seen before," she muttered. Pulling free of Wesley's hand, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and whipped it off over her head, using the ruined fabric to wipe away the blood that soaked through her bandages to trickle down into her waistband. "So is Angel going to start talking or what?"

"Maybe Wes should—"

"I can listen and bandage at the same time," Wesley interrupted. While Faith walked over to the couch and stretched along its length, he went into the kitchen. The sound of running water filled the heavy silence stretching between her and Angel, and soon enough, Wes returned with a wet towel and the first aid kit in hand. "Any time now, Angel. I'm sure we have a lot to cover."

Running his hand over his hair, Angel began to pace behind the couch, keeping his eyes averted. "I don't know where to start."

"I suppose saying 'the beginning' is more than a little trite," Wes said. "So let's just say…Connor."

It took several more minutes for Angel to find the comfort zone he was looking for to begin explaining, but when he did, the story that tumbled out both surprised Faith and didn't. She listened to him talk about how Connor had unraveled there at the end, how he'd taken the hostages, and how without hope he'd seemed. She listened to him describe what it felt like to know you'd failed the one person who needed you the most, and to be offered the possibility to fix every mistake you had ever made.

He looked at both of them when he said that. "Don't tell me you wouldn't love that chance," he said. "Someone waltzes in and gives you the opportunity to correct where you went wrong. An innocent man doesn't die, or a prophecy gets exposed as being a fake. I dare either one of you to look me in the eye and say you wouldn't take that deal."

Angel paused, waiting for one of them to react. Faith couldn't meet his eyes, too absorbed in a world of _what if I could take back that one day_. Suddenly, she wasn't so sure that Angel had been so wrong in making his choice, though it felt like there was a detail about the whole argument that was eluding her.

It was Wesley's calm voice that found it for Faith.

"Choosing to give Connor a new life is not the point in question, Angel. Choosing to do so at the expense of arbitrarily rewriting your colleagues' lives is."

"I did it to protect _Connor_," Angel argued. "You were prepared to do whatever it took to protect him from _me_, remember, Wes? And when did you tell anybody that you were going to steal him away?"

"So this is to continue your retribution for my mistakes?" His grip on the towel he'd been washing Faith with tightened, and small beads of water dropped in erratic patterns onto her skin. "All you had to do was tell us, Angel. Why is it you always choose to believe that we won't understand, that we'll somehow turn against you? You did it with Darla, now you've done it with Connor." He paused. "So is Dana your next folly? What secrets are you keeping there that we were never meant to discover?"

Angel stopped pacing and sat heavily in the armchair, slumped into its depths as if the weight of the conversation was bearing him down. "It was never meant to be about keeping secrets," he said wearily. "I haven't even given the Senior Partners my final decision yet."

"But there is a decision to be made."

Wes turned away from watching Angel to resume tending to Faith's injury. His eyes were clouded and his hands slow, and he couldn't even look at her from the way his mind was churning over this new turn in subject matter. Lifting a hand to cover his, Faith held it there while she waited for him to meet her eyes, hoping that he'd see that, if nobody else, she was there for him. The small smile he gave her made her ache.

"When we were looking for Dana, before Andrew showed up, Eve came to me with an offer." Angel sounded tired, but somewhere deep within his tone, Faith thought there was a modicum of relief. Maybe he did keep everybody at arms' length, and maybe he did keep a lot of secrets, trying to be the one-vamp task force that saved the world, but maybe it wasn't nearly as easy as he made it look to be. Maybe he really did want his friends to help. Maybe he really did wish it didn't have to be this way. And maybe, for a couple seconds, she wasn't quite as mad at him for betraying her trust in him as she had been.

"When I ran into her after Spike disappeared, Eve intimated that you had further business with Dana," Wes said quietly. "I thought she was simply playing another game with us."

"I wish she was," Angel replied. "But no. There really is an offer on the table. A trade." He paused. He was silent for so long that both Wes and Faith glanced in his direction to see if he was actually going to speak.

"The Senior Partners want Dana," Wes finished for him.

"Yeah," Angel confirmed. "And they're offering Cordy in exchange for my bringing Dana in."

Wesley's sharp intake of breath was the only thing audible in the room. Faith pushed herself up on her elbows, heedless of the bandage that wasn't quite fastened down yet. "Are you fucking nuts?"

"I haven't made the deal yet," Angel stressed.

"No, but you're thinking about it. That's why we're even talking about this." She sat up the rest of the way, pushing aside Wesley's hands when he tried to press her back to the cushions. "So who else would you be willing to hand over to them, Angel? First, your friends, then Dana. I figure I gotta be soon because we all know B's pedestal is too high for you to reach."

"It's not like that!" Angel snapped. "There's been no handing over of anybody. Don't you get it, Faith? This has been killing me. I've watched Cordy lie in that bed for months, and now, there's a chance I can get her back."

Wesley's arm shot out to block Faith when she tensed to leap forward. "Why on earth are the Senior Partners even making such a deal?" he asked Angel. "If they have the means to help Cordelia, we need to take those and put them to use, not sit back and allow them to force our hands on this."

"I don't know," Angel conceded. "I've been trying to figure it out. It's one reason why I was keeping such a close eye on Spike. I didn't need them sabotaging his treatment, too. The last thing I wanted was to give the Senior Partners even more leverage to use against me." He snorted. "Fat lot of good that turned out. I should have known Spike would create all his own separate problems."

"Spike isn't your problem, Angel."

Faith rolled her eyes as she slumped back onto the couch. "Yeah, you got a bigger one in B when she finds out you're planning on selling her new pet project out for the princess. You thought _I_ was swinging hard? Something tells me Buffy's blows might sting a little bit more than mine did."

When Angel looked away, Wes did the same, turning back to Faith with hands that were sure and gentle. "She's right, you know," he said quietly. "If you don't wish this to escalate even further than it has, you need to tell Buffy."

"She's not going to like it."

"None of us do. But if you want any of us to help, or to even understand, you need to stop leaving us in the dark." He paused, and she saw the thoughts filter through his mind the moments before he uttered the words. "If you're truly interested in not losing every ounce of trust we might have left in you, you'll do this, Angel. Otherwise, I'm not sure I can continue working at Wolfram & Hart." His eyes met Faith's. "It might be time for me to move on."

"Wes—"

"Faith needs to wash up." He took her hand and pulled her to her feet, not even glancing in Angel's direction. "Consider what I've said. Because if you don't tell Buffy, I will. Right before I leave Los Angeles for good."

Faith stumbled as he led her to the bathroom. At the last moment, she glanced back.

Angel still sat in the chair, unmoving, his eyes fixed on nothing but his thoughts.

* * *

It hit him after the door closed behind Faith, but Wes refused to acknowledge the sudden shaking in his muscles as he went straight to the sink and turned on the tap. He did what he was supposed to do, he kept telling himself. Angel was forcing his hand. It had to be done.

It was the right thing to do.

Faith's hands appeared under the water, blocking the flow. Without saying a word, she curled her strong fingers around his, holding him still as the blood staining their skin ran down the drain. It wasn't until the water ran clear that he was able to look up, and the empathy he saw in her eyes nearly undid him.

"You've got balls of steel, you know that?" she said with a small smile.

His bark of laughter choked in his throat. Shaking the excess water from his hands, Wes reached for a towel to dry off, taking Faith's hands in the terry when he was done. "Thank you for not killing him before he got here," he teased. "We wouldn't know about the Senior Partners' interest in Dana if you had."

"Just don't go spreading it around how much I can sacrifice for the greater good. You'll ruin my rep."

He took his time drying off her skin, grateful for the steadying contact. "I don't know what to do next," he confessed, keeping his voice low. "I didn't anticipate this new development with Dana."

"I don't think any of us did. And I thought you made it clear to Angel that you were going to hightail it out of here if he didn't tell B?"

"He'll tell her. He doesn't have a choice any longer." Her skin was pink and dry, and without the excuse to touch her any longer, Wes tossed aside the towel. "I suppose I could go back to the office—"

"No." She lifted dark eyes to his. "We're staying in. We're going to order some decent Chinese, and we're going to turn on the TV—" Faith stopped, her eyes narrowing. "You get cable, right?"

"Faith—"

"No, you know, don't pussy out on me, Wes. We've been going nonstop since I fucking landed, and you said it yourself. I need to take it easy, give myself a chance to heal. So we're going to call it good for the night, and let Angel deal with his own mess. He did this. Not us. And B's not going to let him do anything to Dana." She shrugged. "Now if B comes pounding on your door, saying we have to figure something out, then we'll talk. Until then, we're taking a break. Because we both deserve it."

It was impossible not to smile at the vehemence in her tone or the defensive glints in her eye. "You're very persuasive," he said.

Faith searched his face. "Is that Watcherspeak for 'you win'?"

"Yes. As soon as I know Angel is going to do the right thing." He brushed past her for the doorway. "Why don't you find something else to wear?" he suggested, glancing back. "Otherwise, I'll be a tad distracted from whatever we choose to watch on the telly."

Her wariness was replaced by a knowing smile, and his cock twitched, in spite of his wayward emotions. "Funny if I don't think that's a bad thing," Faith said slowly.

With an amused shake of his head, Wes walked out and closed the door behind him. He stopped at the entrance to the living room, his gaze settling on Angel still sitting in the chair. "If you don't know Buffy's number," he said, reaching into his pocket to extract his phone, "I'll be more than happy to provide it."

"No, I've got it." Wearily, Angel rose to his feet. He was halfway to the door when he paused. "Don't leave town, Wes. I know I haven't acted like it lately, but I need you for this. I'm sorry you had to find out this way."

Wes didn't miss the fact that Angel wasn't sorry for what he'd actually done, but accepted the apology anyway with a gracious dip of his head. It was a small gesture, perhaps meaningless in the long run, but they had been through too much for him to simply ignore it.

Angel left without another word.

Wes didn't have any left, either.

* * *

Buffy walked back into the kitchen much slower than she'd left to take the call from Angel. At the table, Spike looked up at her when she entered, but the frown on her face was quickly mirrored by his own.

"What does the wanker want now?" he growled.

"To talk." She began clearing up the remains of her lunch, leaving aside the extra food for Lindsey. "He said it was about Dana."

Though she didn't look at him as she worked, Buffy felt Spike's gaze remain steady on her, the seconds ticking as he digested the information. "You think he's goin' to come clean about showing up at Watts last night?" he asked carefully.

"I don't know what else it could be about," she confessed. "I suggested meeting with Dr. Guerrero so that she could get her own answers, and he stomped so fast on that idea that he would've broken a heel."

That seemed to make up his mind for him, and the chair scraped across the floor as he pushed away from the table. "I'm goin' with you." When her head snapped around, Spike held up a hand to stop her from speaking. "Lindsey's locked up tight down there, and if Angel's with you, I don't need to watchdog to keep him safe. And you don't need to do this alone, Buffy."

"I don't want you two getting into a fight."

Spike snorted. "Might as well ask me to stop bein' so devilishly handsome then. Me and Angel always fight, whether you're there to witness it or not."

"But what good will come of you going with me? I need to hear what he has to say, Spike. I can't spend all my time refereeing."

"You won't. I give you my word on that. But nobody knows Angel the way I do, luv. And you haven't been around him the past few months. You need me to help keep his story straight."

She needed him for a lot more than that, but on this, she knew there would be no arguing. "All right," Buffy conceded. Spike sagged as if in relief, and she held up a warning finger. "But the first time either one of you gets out of line, I'm kicking both your asses."

His smile was brilliant. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

The second she saw who she'd called out permission to enter to, Lilah regretted it. "What do you want, Eve?" She hung up the phone on the call she'd just finished. "I'm a little busy here."

The younger woman sauntered inside, closing the office door behind her. She looked around at the small interior as if it was the first time she'd ever seen it, her mouth contorted into a moue of assessment. "Do you miss having windows?" Eve asked. "I mean, it must seem like such a step down to be stuck in this little hole in the wall."

So it was going to be like that. Sometimes she wondered why Eve even tried. On her worst day, Lilah could blow the little tramp clean out of the water.

"Remind me," she said, tossing her pen aside and leaning back in her chair. "Where's _your_ office again?"

Eve ignored the dig and walked around the side of the desk to perch on the near corner. "I thought you'd want to know, Faith and Wesley have left the building again. Well, Faith left with Angel. Wesley was on his bike alone."

"Actually, I was already aware of that," Lilah said smoothly. "I'm dealing with them, if you recall. You couldn't handle it." She paused, pretending to only just remember. "Any word on Lindsey?"

A shadow passed over Eve's face. "I'm working on it."

"Really? Because it looks to me that you're just wasting both of our time by coming in here and reminding me of pointless details that I already knew." She made a shooing motion with her hand and turned back to the file on Faith she had open on her desk. "Go away. One of us would like to actually accomplish something productive today."

Eve didn't move. "And what is it you think you're getting done?"

Lilah couldn't help her satisfied smirk. "Eliminating Faith Lehane from the equation. After tonight, we're not going to have to worry about her interfering in our plans any more."

To be continued in Chapter 19: Exploding Egos…


	19. Exploding Egos

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Angel filled Wes and Faith in on what the Senior Partners is asking of him, and Wes gave him an ultimatum to tell Buffy which Angel begrudgingly accepted; Buffy agreed to allow Spike to come with her to talk to Angel…

_Chapter Nineteen: Exploding Egos_

Spike had half-expected Buffy to put up more of a fight about his tagging along. Hell, confessions to her in his book rarely worked in his favor. So when she acquiesced with hardly more than a routine _behave yourself_, it was no wonder there was more than a hint of a swagger in his step as they strode into the small bar Angel had suggested.

As soon as Angel looked up from the drink he was nursing, his shoulders slumped. "Considering how this day is going, I should've known you'd drag Spike along," he muttered.

Spike stood behind Buffy as she slid onto the stool next to Angel. "There was no dragging involved," she said before he could speak. "Spike's as much a part of all this as I am. He deserves to know what you found out."

"Believe it or not, this isn't actually about Spike," Angel said. He shook his head and pushed away his glass. "Maybe this was a bad idea."

Leaning against the counter, Spike gestured for the bartender to come over. "If you don't want to be talking to us," he said, "I've got more than a few choice words to say to you instead."

"He's going to talk to us," Buffy said. She shook her head at the bartender's request for an order and then turned to scan the bar, looking for an empty table. "Let's go sit in a booth. We'll have more privacy there."

Nobody spoke again as they waited for Spike's whiskey to arrive, and he followed Buffy to the corner she'd selected. Angel looked less and less pleased about being there, but he trailed after like a good puppy and slid into the seat opposite them.

"Have you spoken to Wes since I called you?" he asked.

Buffy frowned. "No. Why?"

"No reason. Though I suppose you would have come in here swinging if he'd already said something to you."

"Well, now there's a bloody gorgeous picture."

Spike grinned when she elbowed him. As angry as he was with Angel for what he'd done to Lindsey, Spike was flying too high on smoothing things over a bit with Buffy to let it stew.

Leaning forward, Buffy said, "What's this about, Angel?"

Draining the rest of his drink, Angel pushed the glass away before leaning heavily back in the seat. For the first time, Spike noticed the bruises on his face, the fresh cuts adorning his jaw. They were too new to have been done when he'd been beating Lindsey, which meant someone else had got to him since then.

"Dana." Angel paused as if that single name was enough to carry the whole conversation. "And Cordy."

"Did the Slayer do that to you?" Spike asked. Buffy had mentioned Angel's unplanned visit to Watts and the subsequent fight. Maybe it took Slayer strength to make old injuries look new.

"Yeah, but not the one you're thinking of," Angel said. "I got these from Faith. For…" He made some vague circle with his hand. "…something else."

"Faith?" Buffy wasn't the only one confused, but Spike wasn't as eager for the twenty questions as she was. "Why? What the hell is going on?"

Angel rubbed at the abrasions on his knuckles as he spoke. "There's really no other way to say this, so I'll just get it out there. But don't get mad. Nothing's happened yet. I tried to impress that on Wes and Faith, but I don't think—"

"Getting it out there sounds a lot like stalling," Buffy interrupted. "_What_ hasn't happened yet?"

For some reason, he looked at Spike. "The Senior Partners are interested in Dana. They've offered me a trade. I get Dana for them, and they'll wake up Cordy."

Though Buffy's sharp intake of breath and subsequent tirade was to be expected, Spike was surprisingly not taken aback by Angel's announcement. It explained why the old man had had his knickers in such a twist about the whole Dana debacle and shed more light on why he'd wanted Spike as far away from the hunt as he could get. He'd seen how many nights Angel had spent at the sleeping Cordelia's side, nights after everybody else had left and he believed himself to be alone. Being a ghost had had some benefits, not the least of which was spying on Angel whenever the fancy took him. Spike knew firsthand what Cordelia meant to Angel. It was yet another reason why his continued comments about Buffy had rankled so much.

"I haven't _done_ anything yet," Angel interrupted, his tone suddenly fierce with Buffy. It shut her up, at least momentarily, and he took advantage of the break to press his case. "But look at it, Buffy. Whether you like it or not, Dana is broken. She is never going to recover from the trauma of what happened to her, and worse, she's dangerous. Lethal. What happens the next time she gets loose? How many people is she going to kill then? And Cordelia deserves better than the hand she's been dealt."

"So does Dana."

Her fading surprise had taken the edge off her anger, though now she was so tense and rigid in the booth that Spike had the overwhelming urge to either take her in his arms and hug it out of her or pull her out to the alley for a good fight to get it out of her system. Images of dragging Angel along and the pair of them going at him made Spike smile, distracting him almost enough to miss what came next.

"What is it you think the Senior Partners are going to do with her, Angel? I haven't climbed any corporate ladders lately, but Giles gave me some background on Wolfram & Hart when you took over there. They're not exactly known for feeding the homeless."

"More like eating the homeless," Spike snorted.

"No," Angel said, almost in resignation. "There's no profit margin there." Before Buffy could start up again, he reached across the table to try and take her hand, only to have her snatch it back out of his reach. The rebuke made his nostrils flare in anger. "Look, don't you think I've thought about that? You haven't been around, Buffy. You haven't seen firsthand what these guys are capable of."

"That's what I don't understand," she said. "You have. And you still haven't told them where they can shove it."

"Because it's _Cordy_. Do you know what she went through last year? Do you have any idea?"

She was shaking his head before he even finished. "No, you can't use that argument, Angel. We've all made sacrifices doing what we do. I've died, Spike's died, I've lost more friends than I count. We knew what the score was when we started the game, and we knew that as much as it sucks, sometimes evil wins. You do not get to single out Cordelia by trading off another innocent."

Angel shook his head. "Dana's not an innocent."

"I don't care if Dana's the First incarnate. I'm still not letting you do this."

"Why won't you let me give her this second chance, Buffy?" His eyes locked with hers. "You got one."

It was a low blow, but then again, Angel was a master at them. Spike had learned at the hands of the best.

A definitive trembling had taken over her hands, and Buffy stuffed them into her lap, out of Angel's view. Beneath the table, Spike reached across and covered them with his, his thumb stroking along the side of her fingers in an attempt to offer some support.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Silent gratitude shone there, words unspoken when so many of the words they'd shared had been damaging. It lasted only a moment, though, before she was squeezing the hand that held hers and turning back to Angel.

"I am not going to tell you what decision to make," she said. "If there's one thing our history has taught me, it's that you'll do what you think is best, no matter how I feel about it. But I'm going to tell you this, Angel. If you hurt Dana in any way, all bets are off. I don't care how many evil lawyers you have watching your back. I'll take them all on to keep Dana from getting hurt again."

Taking Spike's hand, she slid out of the booth, dragging him with her. Angel didn't move, didn't say another word as she led Spike to the bar's entrance, and it wasn't until they were standing in the protection of the eaves, the rain whipping against their ankles from the driving winds, that she turned to him.

"I need to go to Watts," she said. "I need to make sure everybody's on the alert, that they know there's a real threat to Angel trying to get to Dana."

Spike nodded. "Makes sense."

"Are you coming with me?"

It wasn't, _You're not coming_, or _I want you to stay where it's safe_, or even, _I can do this on my own_. It was a bona fide query that said far more than he thought Buffy realized. It said, _I trust you to make the right choice_. It said, _I heard what you said, and this is me trying to honor that._

Spike had never loved Buffy more than he did in that exact moment.

"Yeah." Their fingers tightened where they were still entwined, and he eased the spell around them with a teasing grin. "And I'm driving."

* * *

Faith had appallingly bad taste in television programming. As soon as she took control of the remote, she curled up in the corner of the couch, tucked her legs beneath her, and completely bypassed every single Discovery channel. She'd even scoffed at his suggestion that they see what was on BBC America. Instead, she'd settled on flipping between a Mexican soap opera and some reality program with celebrities locked in a house.

"Do you even speak Spanish?" he asked.

She grinned. It was actually a wonder to see her smiling again. "Don't need to. It's more fun making up the dialogue myself."

Wesley let her sit and enjoy it, while he went into the kitchen to order the Chinese in quiet. The sound of her laughter drifting in from the other room relaxed enough of the knots Angel had created with his duplicity for Wes to make him rush through the call so that he could return to her side. Even if she did have truly awful taste in TV shows.

The phone rang just as he was getting settled back on the couch, and he rose to answer it, aware of the sudden tensing in Faith's attention. He quelled the questioning rush, refusing to hazard a guess as to whether or not it was Angel on the other end of the line, and simply greeted the caller with, "Hello?"

"Hey, Wes. It's Buffy."

His eyes shut, his head bowing as he braced himself for either direction this conversation could take. "I was hoping you'd call," he said.

Her soft exhalation came over the connection. "Yeah, Angel mentioned that he'd told you already. He also said Faith tried to pound some sense into him. Is she there?"

"Yes. Do you wish to speak with her?"

Faith muted the television and turned at his question, eyes dark as she waited for what might come.

"No, that's okay. I just wanted to make sure she was somewhere safe. I think…I think it's probably a really good idea if we start checking in with each other regularly. Until we figure out what's going on."

He frowned. "Didn't…Angel speak with you?" he asked carefully.

"About Dana?" She sighed again. "Oh, yeah. I know all about the deal of the century. Spike and I are on our way to Watts right now to double Dana's guards. Because I don't think Angel is going to back down on this."

That had been his fear as well, but it was reassuring to know Buffy was being proactive. And Angel had done as he'd promised. Perhaps all was not lost after all.

"We left Lindsey asleep back at the hotel," she was saying. "We shouldn't be too long here, but can you go check on him in a few hours anyway?"

"Of course."

"Thanks." The muffled sound of Spike's voice rose in the background, and Buffy turned away from the phone for a moment to speak to him. "Spike wants me to ask that you take over your first aid kit, just in case," she said when she came back. "We had Lindsey checked out this morning, so he should be okay, but, you know, just to be safe."

He agreed, but when he hung up the phone, Faith was up on her knees on the end of the couch, looking at him expectantly.

"Well?" she asked. "Did Angel tell her?"

"Yes. And she reacted exactly as we did."

"Did she finish kicking his ass for me?"

His mouth twitched, and Wes came around the couch to take a seat next to Faith. "She didn't specify, but from what she said, I wouldn't be surprised if she did." Sitting brought him face to face with her abdomen for the split second before she sat back on her heels, but then it was her large, dark eyes, fixed on his, that captured his interest. "Why did you do it?" he asked. At the slight draw of her brows, he elaborated. "Go after Angel. After keeping me from doing it earlier."

It took a moment for Faith to shrug. "Don't know. Just felt like it, I guess. All I could think about was putting the hurt on him, the way he did to us."

Wes didn't miss her word choice. Us. He shifted so that he was facing her more directly.

"You do realize that that's probably an effect of the poison in your system, right? I should be researching the antidote for you right now, instead of watching you watch television."

The cant of her full mouth was matched by a fresh gleam in her eye. "What happened to us needing some R&R? That's what gluing ourselves to the idiot box was supposed to be about."

"That was your suggestion, if you care to remember, not mine."

Faith inched forward until her knees touched the side of his thigh. "You got a better one?"

It was blatant manipulation, he knew that. And it lacked the subtlety or charm he would have hoped for in his younger days from women far less worldly than Faith. But they had both come through so much since those times, together, apart. He had had other partners, had had hopes of other partners, and he was not the same man who would have told this Slayer that there was a job to be done, evil to be vanquished.

He was the man who had kissed her. Twice. Who had practically demanded that she come home with him. Because he wanted her, and damn if it wasn't satisfying to know that she wanted him, too.

Slowly, he reached out and grasped the hem of her shirt. It was one of his; they had both deemed it better if she wore something loose to cover her bandages and her clothing was entirely inappropriate for that. Faith didn't stop him as he pushed it up to expose the fresh swathe of white over her tanned stomach, nor did she say anything when he lifted it over her head. His fingertips burned where they trailed over her bare shoulder, and when he found the thin line of her bra strap, Wes turned the path of his hand back downward.

"What happened to wanting to research?" Her voice was husky, her eyes nearly black. A silent dare waited in their depths, as if she expected him to retreat at any moment.

"Some would say this is its own form of research," Wes replied softly. "We're…testing the limits of your impulse control."

Her smile was wicked, succulent in its taunt. "You know, if you'd had these kind of tests back in Sunnydale, I would've aced being a Slayer."

He traced the upper satin edge of her bra. "I think, after everything, you've turned into a fine Slayer, Faith." He looked up at her through his lashes, though his hand continued to feather along her skin. "How far you've come in the last year has been remarkable."

The boldness that had characterized her approach melted away, stripping her down to the needy woman beneath the hard shell. Faith blinked once, and then twice. The fragile skin in the hollow of her throat was vibrating from the force of her pulse, but otherwise, she didn't move. Not until she lifted her arms and curled them around his shoulders.

The kiss was delicate, the faintest of brushes across his waiting mouth. He tasted her breath, hot and spicy, but when he parted his lips to deepen the caress, Faith retreated, skimming sideways so that the tip of her tongue tickled the corner of his mouth.

"How does this work for impulse control?" she murmured.

Wes smoothed his palms around her back, the power of her muscles rippling through his skin. "Quite well, actually," he said, matching her tone. His cock jumped when she straddled his lap, but she seemed content to simply sit there, savoring the rough texture of his jaw. "This doesn't preclude my finding an antidote, though."

"Considering I don't know what that word means, I'm going to pretend that means you're going to do it later."

"Much later."

"Good."

Her breath fanned over his neck, but when he felt her begin to drag her tongue along his scar, Wes stiffened. It was an instinctive reaction, and he regretted it as soon as it happened.

Faith didn't pull back. "We've both got scars, Wes," she said against his skin. "I'm good with mine if you're good with yours."

His eyes squeezed shut, and he tangled his fingers in her hair in order to pull her back up to his mouth. There was no more need for further talk. He could answer her in other ways, just as she answered him.

To be continued in Chapter 20: Hold Me Naked…


	20. Hold Me Naked

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Wes and Faith moved their relationship up a notch, while Buffy and Spike went back to Watts to double the security on Dana on the tail of discovering Angel's interest in her…

_Chapter Twenty: Hold Me Naked_

It felt like being on the Hellmouth all over again.

Over two dozen young faces gazed back at her, faces filled with awe, with fear, with newfound arrogance. Like it had been in Sunnydale, Buffy didn't know a single name. Most of these Slayers were semi-local, but regardless, she was back in the role of General Buffy, commandeering their respect this time without having to ask first. It dawned on her how much she had truly hated this position.

"Andrew's given me your stats," she said. "So I've organized you into groups of three. Until I tell you otherwise, these are your new best friends. You're going to sleep together, eat together, watch each other's backs. Most importantly, you're going to take shifts patrolling the grounds and keeping an eye out to make sure nobody gets to Dana except Dr. Guerrero, me, or Watts personnel."

"So this vampire we're watching for," a blonde in the front said. "This is the same one who handed Dana over to us?"

Buffy nodded. "His name is Angel. And he's very strong. He's been around almost two hundred and fifty years, and he knows all the tricks. So don't underestimate him."

"But if he shows, we're not to stake him," confirmed a different blonde.

"Right."

"Why?"

It was the question of the century, and one Buffy was tired of answering. "Because he has a soul," she said, just like she always had. "And he has his reasons, as selfish as they are. So no staking."

The first blonde who had spoken up glanced at where Spike lounged against the wall. "Doesn't _he_ have a soul, too?" she asked. "I mean, that's what Andrew said. He told us all about his epic battle to get it."

In the back of the room, Andrew shrank a little down into his chair, as if trying to hide from Buffy's frown. Thankfully, Spike didn't react at all, making Buffy's response easier.

"Yes, Spike has a soul, which puts him on the no-stake list, too," she said.

"But what's the big deal about having a soul if just any old vampire can get one?" Blonde Thing One asked.

She practically heard Spike's unspoken "Oy!" in her head and cut in before he could speak. "Because it's not like going down to Target and picking up one out of the clearance bin," Buffy said. "Spike _earned_ his soul, and I'm not going to have anybody here not respect that."

"But she cut off his hands." Apparently, it was Blonde Thing Two's turn again. "Plus he's a vampire. Isn't he going to want revenge, too?"

"Angel doesn't want revenge—"

"Vengeance isn't solely a vampire gig," Spike interrupted smoothly. "And besides, I don't blame the bird for what she done. She's not all there, right? Thought I was someone else. Bein' a vamp doesn't mean I'm so daft that I don't know the difference."

"Because of the soul," Buffy was quick to interject. She shot him a warning glance. They didn't need to be muddying the waters right now with gray areas that had taken her forever to start getting past.

The look he aimed at her was pointed. "Knew _before_ the soul. But my point is…" He turned back to the other Slayers with a shrug. "…the girl's got nothin' to worry about with me. All I'm interested in is seein' that she doesn't hurt any more and keeping her safe."

The two blondes still looked skeptical, but no more questions were asked, and the girls dispersed as soon as Buffy was done. Even Andrew took off when he noticed the possessive bent to Spike's stance next to her, and she sagged against the wall as soon as they were alone.

"I am never going to like doing that," she said, staring out over the empty chairs in the room.

"Problem is, you're good at it," Spike commented. He tilted his head, regarding her with undisguised curiosity. "I take it you're not commanding the troops over there in Rome?"

Buffy shook her head. "I do what I can to help Giles, but he's pretty busy with all the new Council stuff. And after last year, everybody else was good about sharing the load. It was like this unspoken rule that Buffy got time off for good behavior." Her smile was rueful. "I guess telling Giles that I was coming here to help you and Dana broke that one for good."

Spike took a step closer, his gaze still steady on her. "Know we've been having our words back and forth, and there's been some hurt feelings, but for what it's worth, I'm glad you're in LA." His hand brushed over her hair, and though he made no contact with her skin, she still felt it, a shivering caress that warmed her to her toes. "And she might not know it yet, but it's good for Dana, too."

As difficult as it was, she pushed away from the wall. "I need to let Gemma know I'm here," Buffy said, heading for the wall phone. "She's making me clear all my visits with Dana with her."

"She doesn't really think you're goin' to do her any harm, does she? She doesn't know you very well, obviously."

She sighed. "You know, Spike, considering what's been going on and that she doesn't know me from Adam, I'm not so sure if I wouldn't be doing exactly the same thing if I was in her shoes. And at least I know for sure she's in Dana's corner. Dana needs all the help she can get."

His hand was on her shoulder before she reached the phone, stopping her in mid-step and forcing her to turn around. When she looked up at Spike, his eyes were soft and warm, drinking her in so deeply that the sterile walls surrounding them disappeared. All she saw was him. All she felt was the familiar soothing that had characterized the best of their relationship. And all she wanted in that moment was to take that final step closer and wrap her arms around his waist.

He moved first.

The hard wall of his chest provided the perfect spot for her cheek, and Buffy closed her eyes within a second of contact with the soft cotton. Spike splayed his hands down her back, smoothing the knotted muscles, and the brush of his mouth against the top of her head almost broke through her last wall. Squeezing back the tears of relief, she tightened her arms even more around his lean body, unwilling to ever let go.

"I'm here," he murmured, over and over again in tones so gentle that there was no denying their veracity. "And you don't have to do any of this alone, Buffy. Not any more."

"I know." And she did. Though that didn't change… "Except for Dana." She looked up at him before he could misunderstand her intent. "I have to see her by myself for now. It's still too soon since she attacked you for her to see you, and I haven't built up enough rapport yet to have her automatically believe me that you're not going to hurt her."

His lips thinned, but after a moment, Spike nodded. "Makes sense."

"But the rest of it—"

He stopped her from finishing the sentence by pressing his mouth to hers, a caress that had both of them parting their lips, seeking out the other's tongue, hands grappling for a better hold within seconds of contact. It was both familiar and not, a memory of days better left unremembered and a testimony to what was yet to come. More than make her burn, however, it made Buffy's head spin, so that by the time Spike pulled away, she felt like she was flying.

"You do what you need to do," he said. "And I'm goin' to do what I need to do."

Buffy frowned. "And what's that?"

His hands came up to rub her upper arms. "Know you called Wes, but if all I'm goin' to be doin' around here is waiting for you to be done with Dana, I thought I'd go back and check on Lindsey. There's no guarantee Angel didn't go back there to try and finish the job."

Personally, Buffy thought Lindsey was the least of Angel's worries at the moment, and that he'd be too distracted to give the ex-lawyer a second consideration. But she nodded anyway and stepped back, putting unwanted distance between their bodies.

"That's probably a good idea," she said. "I don't know how long I'm going to be."

For a moment, she thought he was going to argue with her – which totally didn't make sense since she'd just agreed to his suggestion without batting an eyelash or even arguing – but then Spike was brushing her hair off her face, momentarily distracted by its length, and smiling at her like he didn't have a care in the world.

"I'll stick around there until Wes and Faith show up," he promised. "If you're not done by then, I'll give you a ring."

"Maybe we can go get dinner after," she said without thought. "Someplace nice."

That stopped him halfway through the door. With a tilt of his head and a cock of his brow, Spike regarded her for a full thirty seconds before speaking. "That sounds like a date."

Her smile was slow but sure. "That's because it is."

He matched her smile and nodded. "A date it is, then."

And then he was gone.

And Buffy wished desperately that he was back already.

* * *

Gemma hung up the phone, less than pleased. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't stop Buffy from seeing Dana. There were still appearances to be made with the Council, and in the end, Gemma was just as accountable to them as Buffy was. The only part of the conversation that she'd liked at all was hearing that security around Dana had trebled. It suited her purpose. Angel and anybody he might send in his stead would find it a hell of a lot more difficult to get closer to Gemma's patient now.

She knew from Andrew's earlier phone call that the vampire she'd seen with Buffy was at Watts, as well. Buffy hadn't mentioned Spike, but that was most likely because she knew it would upset Gemma. Which it would. He wouldn't get in to see Dana, though, not if Gemma had anything to say. A quick phone call to the nurses' station ensured that Buffy would be the only one to pass through those doors.

Gemma would have done it herself, but with Buffy and Spike at Watts, there was a certain someone she wanted to finish a conversation with. After grabbing her purse and keys, she instructed her secretary to not divulge that she wasn't in the building. If there was an emergency, or if anybody wanted to reach her, Gemma was to be called on her cell phone. Hopefully, though, she'd be back long before anybody even noticed she was gone.

* * *

She couldn't stop shaking.

Straddling Wesley's lap, feeling his erection pressing against her covered pussy, Faith knew there were other things they should have been doing, anything that wasn't mauling each other like horny teenagers out on a second date. But the second he had reached for her, any thought of turning back from what she'd instigated had vanished, and all Faith wanted was to feel his lean form glued to hers, drown in the same kind of kisses he'd offered earlier.

Except it was different. He was different. She was different. Everything was different.

It should have been about a temporary reprieve from the insanity of the past couple days. Coming together and ignoring everything that had transpired between them in years gone by to forget pain for a few precious hours and wallow in pure, carnal lust instead. It should have been hot and easy. It should have been a lot of things.

But from the moment Wes dragged her back up to his mouth, after she'd made the comment about his scar, something changed. He kissed her without letting her go, strong hands molding over her back to find spots of tension to knead that she hadn't even realized were there. He kept her mouth on his, even going so far as to knot his fingers in her hair to curl fingers into her skull when she attempted to explore elsewhere. Faith knew she could break free, that all it would take would be a little bit of force and she could do whatever she wanted, but even she recognized that this _was_ what she wanted. And if Wes wanted both of them to be lightheaded from his insistent kisses, then that was good with her.

It didn't stop the torrent of sensation from rushing through her, though. Not the tight curl in the pit of her stomach when his hand slipped beneath the waistband of her jeans to stroke the upper swell of her ass. Not the prickle of heat along her bare arms when his teeth caught on her lip, just hard enough for the slight stab of pain to sharpen the pleasure of his soothing tongue. Not the ache in her chest when he finally broke away and looked at her, blue eyes burning into hers.

"I don't want to do this here," he murmured. "But I don't want to let you go enough for us to go into the bedroom, either."

She smirked. It was easier to wear the robe of the audacious tease anyway. "Afraid I'll run away?"

Wes shook his head. "I'm afraid this won't be real. I'm rather…tired of having truth ripped away from me today."

Her smirk faltered. With her throat so tight she could barely breathe, Faith tightened both her arms and legs around him, closing what little distance there already was between their bodies.

"You don't have to let go, slugger. I'm an old pro at hanging on."

Wes slid his hands down to cup her ass, his muscles tensing as he rose to his feet. There was a moment of vertigo as Faith adjusted to the new angle, but as he walked to the bedroom, his gaze unfailingly on her, she wondered if it was that or the sense of déjà vu growing stronger with every step.

It wasn't until they reached the edge of his bed that it struck her what the similarity was.

She had expected this to be an escape for both of them. And it wasn't. Not just an escape, that is. At least, it didn't feel like it.

The last time she'd been in a situation like this was right before the Hellmouth collapsed. When she'd taken Robin for a tumble and fallen so hard herself.

She'd loved Robin in the end. She could admit that now. And she'd lost him.

It made her ache to think that it could happen all over again.

Wes paused before lowering her to the mattress. "What's wrong?" he asked, concern coloring his words.

She didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to _think_ about it. Not Robin, not Wes, not repercussions that would only make things worse in the long run. She wanted a few hours of oblivion. Was that such a hard thing to ask for?

Apparently. Because she blurted the words without hesitation.

"What the fuck are we doing?"

His frown eased, and the corner of his mouth lifted. "I thought that was obvious," Wes murmured, his hands caressing her ass. "Unless…" He froze. "Are you asking me to stop?"

"No, I just…I can't be the only one confused here."

With a gentleness that shouldn't have surprised her, he lowered her to the bed, allowing her to let him go and stretch out along its length. "Remarkably, you're the one part of all this that's crystal clear for me," he said. He removed his shirt as he spoke, revealing more scars than she would have thought a bookworm like Wes should sport. There was one on his abdomen that looked particularly angry, as well as smaller, lighter marks adorning random patches of skin. "I know who you are, Faith. Now. And I'd like to think that you know who I am."

She did. God help her, she finally got it. But all she could do was nod.

His hands worked at his pants, pushing them down his long legs until he stood naked in front of her. The sight of his hard cock jutting from the dark hair made her mouth water, and she sat up to grasp him at the base before he could move beyond reach. Her tongue darted out and dragged across the wet tip, eliciting a sharp hiss from Wes, but the first burst of taste only made Faith want more, and she opened her mouth wider in order to swallow him down.

His hand settled on the back of her head, feather light but still there, following the motion of her head as she began sucking up back up his hard length. "Faith…" he groaned, but anything else was lost in his long, shuddering sigh when she let her teeth scrape at the velvety crown. His fingers tightened, pulling at her hair so that it prickled down her spine, but it did nothing to stop her.

Resting her hands on the taut muscles of his hips, Faith balanced swallowing Wesley's cock down with allowing him to guide her along, a fragile equilibrium that had her trembling far worse than she'd been in the living room. At first, she closed her eyes, concentrating on how hard he was as he passed over her lips, on the sounds he made when she let her tongue dance over his shaft, but it didn't take long for her to open them again. She needed to know where she was. She needed to know who it was she was with. Closing her eyes blurred lines she didn't want clouded, lines she was pretty sure Wes wanted clear as well.

He pulled her off far too soon.

Wes didn't give her time to ask why before he was pushing her back to the bed, his mouth fused to hers in a desperate kiss that she had no choice but to reciprocate. As he stripped her of the rest of her clothing, his fingertips scalded where they dragged along her skin, leaving her writhing beneath his long body by the time she was naked. Faith gripped his shoulders, coiling a leg around his hip, but at the first draw of his body toward hers, Wes broke free of her mouth.

"This can't be rough," he rasped, panting for breath. "I'm not going to be the one who hurts you."

It took until he skimmed along the edges of her bandages to realize what Wes was referring to. "Maybe I should be on top," she suggested.

"No." Every ragged rise of his chest scraped along her aching nipples. "Just trust me."

Faith swallowed. Her ears were ringing. "Only if you let me ride you as soon as I'm healed."

His slow smile drove the worst of the ringing away. "You have my word."

Wes waited until she relaxed the hold of her leg before shifting his hips so that the head of his cock dragged along her swollen outer lips. Faith gasped as it glanced over her clit, but there was no time to demand more before he was positioned at her opening, sinking into her wet channel slowly, deliberately, gentle without losing the edge of his hunger. He didn't pause when he was completely sheathed, rocking in and out of her with long strokes that belied the hard kisses that returned to steal her breath. Faith didn't care. It offered the means to finally block out the worrisome thoughts of earlier.

The desire to surge against him with every thrust was kept at bay by Wesley's exploring hands. Fingers found hard nipples, nails scratched across sensitive skin, all of it worked together to leave her flesh poised to erupt. With her heart tripping, the world faded to nothing but Wes and his mouth and his hands and the growing certainty that nothing had been so right in quite some time. She squeezed around his cock, and a ragged groan came from his throat, forcing Wes to tear away from her lips and rest his brow to hers.

"Do that again," he murmured. It wasn't quite begging, but the need was undeniable, and Faith granted the request without hesitation.

This time, Wesley's groan was almost a growl. "The things you do…"

"There's more." Faith scratched her nails across his nape, seeking out his mouth again. "This is just the tip of the iceberg."

Wesley's strokes grew in intensity, harder and longer without – somehow – speeding up. When her orgasm began to curl deep in her gut, Faith clawed at his shoulders, needing the support they offered as everything else abandoned her. He didn't quicken even as she screamed his name, though his strokes grew increasingly erratic, culminating in the sudden bow of his back, the tendons standing out in his neck as his lashes fluttered shut.

Faith clenched around his cock once again as he shot deep inside her, not easing off even when he came crashing back, slamming his mouth to hers in a kiss so savage that she tasted blood. Without breaking away, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled onto his back, taking her with him so that she was stretched atop him, his length still buried in her pussy.

"I thought I wasn't going to be on top," she panted when he finally pulled back.

"This isn't about fucking you again," he said, matching her breathless state. One hand came up to push the sweat-damp hair off her forehead. "I just want to hold you."

What was she supposed to say to that? There was nowhere to run, as was her usual modus operandi, and what was more frightening, she didn't want to.

Slowly, she rested her head on his chest. Beneath her cheek, she felt his breathing gradually slow until it matched the soft caresses his hands left up and down her back. Her eyes remained open. There was probably something she needed to say, but right then, Faith had no idea what it was.

So she opted for silence.

It was far more comfortable than she could have imagined.

To be continued in Chapter 21: Got a Soul That Cannot Sleep…


	21. Got a Soul That Cannot Sleep

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, which is a shame because usually we're nicer to them than Joss was.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Angel's confession prompted Buffy to increase security around Dana, Wes and Faith had sex, and Spike decided to go see Lindsey while Buffy met with Dana…

_Chapter Twenty-One: Got a Soul That Cannot Sleep_

Though she understood the necessity of the straps that held Dana in place, Buffy's heart broke when she saw the girl's pale face against the stark white sheets. This was a world of worse than seeing her with her makeshift raft. This reeked of everything that Buffy had tried to forget in coming to Watts. This was the crushing of a spirit. She had the sudden inexplicable urge to undo each and every one of the leather straps and set Dana free. Only the memory of what she had done the last time she'd gotten free stopped her.

She tried to be as quiet as she could as she closed the door shut behind her, but the soft latch of the lock was followed instantly by the fluttering of Dana's sooty lashes. Everything in Buffy froze. She held her breath, waiting to see what Dana would do, but as the seconds passed and all the other Slayer did was stare up at the ceiling, she slowly exhaled and edged closer to the side of the bed.

"Dana?" she said, keeping her tone as gentle as she could. Her fingers fluttered over the tightly drawn blankets, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles. "It's Buffy. Do you remember me?"

Time stretched while she waited for a response, Dana's eyes unblinking as they fixed on the acoustic tiles over her head. The longer it took, the more Buffy feared that Dana had slipped into some type of catatonic state, a result of too many memories or too many drugs or not enough attention breaking what little will there was left in the girl. What had Dr. Guerrero given her this time? Buffy wondered. But just as she was about to give up and go find the doctor to demand insight into what had happened, Dana blinked.

Buffy leaned closer. "Dana?" she tried again. "Can you hear me? You've been asleep. You had a…an experience last night, and Dr. Guerrero thought it best if you got some rest to recover from it." No response. "Do you remember anything that happened, Dana? Can you talk about it?"

This time, Dana closed her eyes in response to Buffy's questions. Her nostrils flared, and at her sides, her hands balled into fists. Buffy stiffened in anticipation of a fresh attack, but it didn't come. Instead, Dana licked her dry lips and whispered, "Angel."

It was different than hearing Dr. Guerrero's claims or Angel's protestations. This was a single accusatory word, laced with fear. Buffy's heart broke a little more.

"Yeah," she confirmed softly. "He was here."

Dana turned her head, opening her eyes to gaze upon Buffy. "Tried to stop him. Tried…failed."

"No, no, you didn't." Carefully, Buffy rested her hand over the nearest of Dana's, though the other girl's remained clutched into a fist. "You're here, aren't you? And you're going to get better. We're going to see to that. Don't worry about Angel. He's not going to be able to get to you any more."

"Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong." Every word was punctuated by a shake of Dana's head. "Try again. Try. I can feel it. I can feel it."

Dana's eyes welled with tears, but they didn't fall, trapped by whatever nightmares were careening inside her head. Buffy stroked the back of her hand, trying to relax her, trying to get her to speak some more, but when it didn't seem like it was coming, she prompted softly, "You can feel what? Tell me, Dana."

The movement of her head stopped, eyes fixed again on the ceiling. "My soul. It's really there." She paused. "Kind of stings."

Buffy's heart lodged somewhere in the back of her throat at the familiar words. Why was it Dana always seemed to choose Spike's words to throw back at her? She knew she was channeling memories of other Slayers, but Spike was a vampire. She wasn't channeling vampires, too, was she?

Buffy dismissed that thought as soon as it popped up. No, Dana was only repeating things she could hear. Buffy had heard those words in the Hellmouth right before it had collapsed, and for whatever reason, Dana was opting to select those to convey her thoughts now.

The question was why.

Looking around the room, Buffy frowned when she realized there was nothing to sit on. She went back to the door and poked her head out, getting the attention of the three Slayers lounging in the hallway.

"I need somebody to get a chair," she said, ignoring how they all scrambled to their feet as soon as they saw her.

While one rushed off, another – Blonde Thing Two from the earlier meeting, Buffy realized in dismay – frowned and said, "Isn't she still dangerous? She could use the chair as a weapon."

"That's my problem," Buffy bit out. "Not yours."

She took the straight-backed chair the first girl brought back to her and retreated back inside Dana's room, leaning heavily on the door after she closed it behind her. "Be glad you get to be in bed all day," she said. "Bossing around a bunch of teenaged girls is only fun if you're a teenaged guy."

Dana didn't reply. Buffy never really expected her to.

Placing the chair next to the bed, Buffy sat down and leaned forward so that Dana wouldn't have to strain too hard to look at her. "You don't have to talk," she said. "I just want you to get comfortable with me being around. Which means I'll be big with the talking and probably not making much sense. But hey, maybe it'll make sense to you. Who knows?"

Though Dana was watching her as she spoke, it wasn't until Buffy started babbling that she seemed to respond. Slowly, her hand uncurled, the fingers spreading flat. "It's all a jumble," she whispered. "Inside my head. Out. Everywhere."

"I know." Buffy matched her tone. "But we're going to fix it."

"Can't. No time."

"I told you. You don't have to worry about Angel any more. You're safe."

"He'll be back. They always come back. You can cut, and cut, and cut, but there's always more."

"That's my job to worry about. Your job is to get better. To be strong again."

"Better." Dana rolled the word around on her tongue, as if testing it out, and then shook her head. "Don't want to jump. Doesn't work. Doesn't make things better. Makes things…" Her lashes lifted, her dark eyes fixing so intensely on Buffy that she shivered. "You come back wrong."

Buffy's heart slammed into her throat, choking off any more reassuring words or any more assertions that everything was going to be better. Maybe this was all a pipe dream. Maybe she was fooling herself into thinking she could actually help Dana. Because the more Buffy heard, the more of Buffy's life that came spilling from this girl's mouth, tossed about without thought of how it might sting, the more Buffy wondered how she was supposed to stay neutral.

"Nobody's _wrong_," she said, pushing aside her doubts. "And nobody's going to make you do anything that you don't want to do, Dana. That's what life is all about. You get to decide the course of it. If it's what you want, you're going to get better and not have to worry about what we're doing to protect you."

And if she had to repeat it until her lips were numb, she would. Sooner or later, somebody was going to believe her.

* * *

Angel stood outside the door for over thirty minutes before finding the courage to knock. Even when the elderly neighbor lady opened her door and peered out, giving him the _Stop lurking in my hallway or I'll call the police because I know you're secretly a gang member out to rob and kill me_ look, all he could do was smile at her and lift his hand, pretending to get ready to knock until she closed her door again. Then he moved to the opposite side of the door so that she wouldn't be able to see him without coming out if she cared to look in the hall a second time.

But it was the realization that he didn't have anyplace else to go that finally drove him to rap at the door. He had to do this. Regardless of whether or not he got the door slammed back in his face.

The sound of rustling from inside was followed by the low murmur of voices, footsteps approaching and then the easy turn of the doorknob. Angel looked up to meet Wesley's surprised gaze, but it was Faith's, "Well, fuck," that startled them both back into reality.

"Angel." It always surprised him that Wes could sound so calm, especially when he knew he was anything but. "What can we do for you?"

That was when he noticed the scents rising from both the room and Wesley's skin. Faith and sweat and sex and others that had Angel's body reacting against his will. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what was going on, how they'd come from torture to this, but he bit it back in time. Right now, he didn't have any rights to demand anything. After everything…

He caught Faith's eye beyond Wesley's shoulder. The anger boiled in her, just waiting for someone to turn the heat up, but under it was the hurt that he wasn't the man she'd expected him to be. It was easy to recognize. He'd seen it in Buffy's face more than once. And it still stung every time he saw it.

"I talked to Buffy," he said. "Like I told you I would."

Wes nodded. "She rang and told me." He paused. "I should inform you that she's reinforcing Dana's guards, on the chance that you actually go through with this mad exchange."

"That's what I'm here to talk to you about." Angel nodded toward the living room. "Can I come in? I'd rather not do this in the hallway."

It took a moment for Wes to step aside, remaining mute to the invitation he'd issued earlier that day. The roll of Faith's eyes was all Angel needed to see her disgust with Wesley's decision to let him enter, but she didn't run, instead opting to take the most comfortable seat in the room, gaze bold as she dared him to argue.

He couldn't sit and was mildly grateful when Wes didn't either. He didn't want to seem like he was towering over both of them. "I've been thinking a lot about things you and Buffy said to me today," Angel started, not bothering with any more social niceties. "Hell, I've been thinking a lot lately, in general."

Faith snorted. "Tell us something we didn't already know."

"If you're here to try and convince us that it's a good thing to make this exchange, Angel—"

"I'm not. I'm here because I want Cordy back."

Wesley's mouth tightened. "You do realize Buffy will kill you before she lets you anywhere near Dana again, don't you?"

Angel nodded. "Which is why I came here. I want you to help me figure out how to wake her up again."

With a heavy sigh, Wes shook his head. "Don't you think we've been trying? Fred is always in correspondence with medical, and I've been looking for ways ever since we started at Wolfram & Hart. We haven't found anything, Angel. Which is why I think this suggestion from the Senior Partners is ludicrous."

"No, it's not ludicrous. Think about it, Wes. There is no way the Senior Partners would offer me something, something I _really_ want, and have it fall through after I gave them their asking price. They know it would piss me off, and that's the last thing they want right now. That means there's a way to do it."

"But even if that's so, we've exhausted all our means thus far to find it," Wes argued.

"I don't think so." Angel ignored Faith's eyes boring into him to concentrate on Wes. "I think there's a connection between the Senior Partners wanting Dana and them being able to offer this. Because Eve has said time and time again that there is no cure for Cordy if I don't bring Dana in. It's there. I know it is."

Though Faith snorted in disbelief behind him, there was enough hesitancy in Wesley responding that Angel took faith. This was what he had hoped for. Wesley with a problem to solve was a Wesley who set aside personal and emotional issues to accomplish his goal. This was a Wes who would work with Angel in spite of feeling betrayed. If enough time then passed, perhaps they could forget this nastiness and move on. They'd done it before, after all.

"I had Records pull some information on Dana earlier today," Wes mused.

"You did?"

Angel glanced back to see Faith frowning, not at him for a change, but at Wesley. Obviously, sex didn't mean they were sharing everything just yet.

"After I sent you up to my office," Wes replied. His mouth canted. "And don't think I've forgotten your failure to do as I requested."

When Faith suddenly grinned, a fresh wave of arousal coming from between her thighs, Angel stuffed his hands into his pockets, uncomfortable with this new shift in their relationship. "Did you look at them?" he asked Wes.

"Not yet." He paused, lost in thought for a moment. "They're on my desk. I left them there when I realized Faith wasn't where I'd directed her. But, Angel, I specifically asked for anything that might connect her to the Senior Partners. If there's an answer to be had, it has to be there."

"Then let's go."

Angel was halfway to the door when he realized neither Wes nor Faith had moved. They exchanged a look that said more than if they'd spoken out loud.

"I'll leave the numbers where you can reach me," Wes said. To Faith, not Angel.

She watched him as he scribbled down the information and brought it over to her. Her heart rate jumped when their fingers brushed in the exchange.

"I don't know when I'll be back. Late, most likely."

"Do me good to get a decent night's sleep for a change," she replied.

Wes glanced at Angel. "Give me a moment to put something else on."

He left him alone with Faith, but only for a second. As soon as she realized it was just the two of them in the room, she uncurled from the chair and strode to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

It was better than getting hit.

But not by much.

* * *

The Hyperion was dead. Not a sound came from the floorboards above his head, nor from the walls to indicate any other form of life finding tenancy at the hotel. In spite of how sore he was, Lindsey would have welcomed even Angel back at that point, if only for something to break the monotony. He hoped for Spike, though. He had a feeling that all was not lost there just yet.

When the door at the top of the stairs opened, he pushed up to sit against the wall, facing the front of the cell so that there would be no surprises. Still, when the slim figure of Gemma Guerrero appeared, first her legs and then her unsmiling face, a ripple of shock went through him. Her proposals had been food for thought, but Lindsey hadn't taken them too seriously. After all, Buffy had been the one to bring her in, and she'd left without enough hints to indicate that she intended on following through with them. How long had he been in the basement if she was back already?

"Well, you're a sight for sore eyes," he said with a lopsided grin.

She cocked an amused brow. "The way you look, I would've said it was more than your eyes that were sore."

Lindsey shrugged. "I'm a big boy. I know how to take my knocks." That was when he saw the keys to the cell dangling from her hand, though his acknowledgement of anticipation was a quick glance. "Speaking of knocks, tell me this isn't a joke."

"It isn't a joke," she replied automatically. She slipped the key into the lock with ease and opened the door. "I'm ready to get you out of here, get you someplace safe, if you're willing to play for my team for awhile."

His smile faded. "No offense, but I've had my stint as a team player. Didn't take. I'm a free agent these days."

Gemma stopped beyond his reach, though Lindsey wasn't fool enough to try anything. "It looks to me like being a free agent is a deadly road to take."

"I'm not dead yet. And I'm not stupid. You still haven't told me what you want me for."

"I want your expertise. Your intelligence. Your dogged perseverance."

Only one part of that demanded further clarification. "My expertise on what?"

"Angel."

She was serious. It only took one look into those unwavering dark eyes to know that Gemma Guerrero had never been more serious in her life. Lindsey had seen too many liars in his time not to recognize honesty when he saw it.

Discarding his glib tone, he asked, "What's your interest in Angel?"

Gemma paused, weighing his question. "I work for people who want to see Angel…controlled."

"You're a Slayer."

"So?"

"You work for the Council."

"And I'm still failing to see your point."

"Doesn't Buffy Summers work for the Council, too?"

Before she could answer, the stairs behind her creaked, and both of them looked to see Spike leaning against the rail, watching them with a curious tilt to his head.

"Well, well, well," he drawled. "Looks like we've got a cat and a canary here. Only question is, which one of us is singing?"

To be continued in Chapter 22: Greedy Little People in a Sea of Distress…


End file.
